my inability to think of work—all that is not the illness itself
Mrs. Alving.
Then what is the illness itself?
Oswald.
The disease I have as my birthright—[He points to his forehead and adds very softly]—is seated here.
Mrs. Alving.
[Almost voiceless.] Oswald! No—no!
Oswald.
Don't scream. I can't bear it. Yes, mother, it is seated here—waiting. And it may break out any day—at any moment.
Mrs. Alving.
Oh, what horror!
Oswald.
Now, quiet, quiet. That is how it stands with me
Mrs. Alving.
[Springs up.] It's not true, Oswald! It's impossible! It cannot be so!
Oswald.
I have had one attack down there already. It was soon over. But when I came to know the state I had been in, then the dread descended upon me, raging and ravening; and so I set off home to you as fast as I could.
