CLARA.
Brother, you talk—
CARL.
Don't you like it? Never mind! You will not see me very much longer!
CLARA (shudders with terror).
No!
CARL.
No? So you know already that I am going to sea? Do my thoughts crawl around on my forehead, that you can read them so easily? Or did the old man fly into a passion in his old way and threaten to shut me out of the house? Bah! That would be very much the same thing as if the jailer had sworn to me: You shall not stay in prison any longer—I am going to shove you out into the open again!
CLARA.
You do not understand me!