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stand there looking as if you were thunder-*struck
Tesman.
Yes—so I am—I almost think
Brack.
Don't you see, Mrs. Tesman, a thunderstorm has just passed over?
Hedda.
[Pointing towards the inner room.] Will you not take a glass of cold punch, gentlemen?
Brack.
[Looking at his watch.] A stirrup-cup? Yes, it wouldn't come amiss.
Tesman.
A capital idea, Hedda! Just the thing! Now that the weight has been taken off my mind
Hedda.
Will you not join them, Mr. Lövborg?
Lövborg.
[With a gesture of refusal.] No, thank you. Nothing for me.
Brack.
Why bless me—cold punch is surely not poison.
Lövborg.
Perhaps not for every one.
Hedda.
I will keep Mr. Lövborg company in the meantime.
