Never to be
able to work anymore! Never--never! A living death! Mother, can
you imagine anything so horrible!
Mrs. Alving. My poor unhappy boy? How has this terrible thing
happened?
Oswald (sitting up again). That is just what I cannot possibly
understand. I have never lived recklessly, in any sense. You must
believe that of me, mother, I have never done that.
Mrs. Alving. I haven't a doubt of it, Oswald.
Oswald. And yet this comes upon me all the same; this terrible
disaster!
Mrs. Alving. Oh, but it will all come right again, my dear
precious boy. It is nothing but overwork. Believe me, that is so.
Oswald (dully). I thought so too, at first; but it isn't so.
Mrs. Alving. Tell me all about it.
Oswald. Yes, I will.
Mrs. Alving. When did you first feel anything?
Oswald. It was just after I had been home last time and had got
back to Paris. I began to feel the most violent pains in my head-
-mostly at the back, I think. It was as if a tight band of iron
was pressing on me from my neck upwards.
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