To my mind, Oswald has much
more of a clergyman's mouth.
Menders. Well, yes--a good many of my colleagues in the church
have a similar expression.
Mrs. Alving. But put your pipe down, my dear boy. I don't allow
any smoking in here.
Oswald (puts down his pipe). All right, I only wanted to try it,
because I smoked it once when I was a child.
Mrs. Alving. You?
Oswald. Yes; it was when I was quite a little chap. And I can
remember going upstairs to father's room one evening when he was
in very good spirits.
Mrs. Alving. Oh, you can't remember anything about those days.
Oswald. Yes, I remember plainly that he took me on his knee and
let me smoke his pipe. "Smoke, my boy," he said, "have a good
smoke, boy!" And I smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was
turning quite pale and the perspiration was standing in great
drops on my forehead. Then he laughed--such a hearty laugh.
Manders. It was an extremely odd thing to do.
Mrs. Alving. Dear Mr. Manders, Oswald only dreamt it.
Oswald. No indeed, mother, it was no dream.
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