Oswald (shaking his head). I don't in the least understand what
you mean.
Mrs. Alving. You should have known your father in his young days
in the army. He was full of the joy of life, I can tell you.
Oswald. Yes, I know.
Mrs. Alving. It gave me a holiday feeling only to look at him,
full of irrepressible energy and exuberant spirits.
Oswald. What then?
Mrs. Alving, Well, then this boy, full of the joy of life--for he
was just like a boy, then--had to make his home in a second-rate
town which had none of the joy of life to offer him, but only
dissipations. He had to come out here and live an aimless life;
he had only an official post. He had no work worth devoting his
whole mind to; he had nothing more than official routine to
attend to. He had not a single companion capable of appreciating
what the joy of life meant; nothing but idlers and tipplers...
Oswald. Mother--!
Mrs. Alving. And so the inevitable happened!
Oswald. What was the inevitable?
Mrs. Alving. You said yourself this evening what would happen in
your case if you stayed at home.
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