in life—only an official position. He had no work into which he could throw himself heart and soul; he had only business. He had not a single comrade that could realise what the joy of life meant—only loungers and boon-companions
Oswald.
Mother!
Mrs. Alving.
So the inevitable happened.
Oswald.
The inevitable?
Mrs. Alving.
You told me yourself, this evening, what would become of you if you stayed at home.
Oswald.
Do you mean to say that father?
Mrs. Alving.
Your poor father found no outlet for the over-*powering joy of life that was in him. And I brought no brightness into his home.
Oswald.
Not even you?
Mrs. Alving.
They had taught me a great deal about duties and so forth, which I went on obstinately believing in. Everything was marked out into duties—into my duties, and his duties, and—I am afraid I made his home intolerable for your poor father, Oswald.
