Solness.
Never in this world—never. That is another consequence of the fire—and of Aline's illness afterwards.
Hilda.
[Looks at him with an indefinable expression.] And yet you build all these nurseries?
Solness.
[Seriously.] Have you never noticed, Hilda, how the impossible—how it seems to beckon and cry aloud to one?
Hilda.
[Reflecting.] The impossible? [With animation.] Yes, indeed! Is that how you feel too?
Solness.
Yes, I do.
Hilda.
Then there must be—a little of the troll in you too.
Solness.
Why of the troll?
Hilda.
What would you call it, then?
Solness.
[Rises.] Well, well, perhaps you are right. [Vehemently.] But how can I help turning into a troll, when this is how it always goes with me in everything—in everything!
Hilda.
How do you mean?
