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nor fresh air, but only gilding and great petrified ghosts of people all round the walls.
Ulfheim.
Devil take me, but it served her right!
Maia.
Yes, but don't you think it's quite a comical story, all the same?
Ulfheim.
[Looks at her a moment.] Now listen to me, my good companion of the chase
Maia.
Well, what is it now?
Ulfheim.
Should not we two tack our poor shreds of life together?
Maia.
Is his worship inclined to set up as a patching-tailor?
Ulfheim.
Yes, indeed he is. Might not we two try to draw the rags together here and there—so as to make some sort of a human life out of them?
Maia.
And when the poor tatters were quite worn out—what then?
