Hedda.
Well?
LÖVBORG.
Was there no love in your friendship for me either? Not a spark—not a tinge of love in it?
Hedda.
I wonder if there was? To me it seems as though we were two good comrades—two thoroughly intimate friends. [Smilingly.] You especially were frankness itself.
Lövborg.
It was you that made me so.
Hedda.
As I look back upon it all, I think there was really something beautiful, something fascinating—something daring—in—in that secret intimacy—that comradeship which no living creature so much as dreamed of.
Lövborg.
Yes, yes, Hedda! Was there not?—When I used to come to your father's in the afternoon—and the General sat over at the window reading his papers—with his back towards us
Hedda.
And we two on the corner sofa
Lövborg.
Always with the same illustrated paper before us
Hedda.
For want of an album, yes.
