I had sworn to myself that you should know it one day--
you, and you only!
Manders. And what may the truth be?
Mrs. Alving. The truth is this, that my husband died just as
great a profligate as he had been all his life.
Manders (feeling for a chair). What are you saying?
Mrs. Alving. After nineteen years of married life, just as
profligate--in his desires at all events--as he was before you
married us.
Manders. And can you talk of his youthful indiscretions--his
irregularities--his excesses, if you like--as a profligate life!
Mrs. Alving. That was what the doctor who attended him called it.
Manders. I don't understand what you mean.
Mrs. Alving. It is not necessary that you should.
Manders. It makes my brain reel. To think that your marriage--all
the years of wedded life you spent with your husband--were
nothing but a hidden abyss of misery.
Mrs. Alving. That and nothing else. Now you know.
Manders. This--this bewilders me. I can't understand it! I can't
grasp it! How in the world was it possible? How could such a
state of things remain concealed?
Mrs.
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