Solness. I had noticed the split in the flue long, long before the fire. Every time I went up into the attic, I looked to see if it was still there.
Hilda. And it was?
Solness. Yes; for no one else knew about it.
Hilda. And you said nothing?
Solness. Nothing.
Hilda. And did not think of repairing the flue either?
Solness. Oh yes, I thought about it—but never got any further. Every time I intended to set to work, it seemed just as if a hand held me back. Not to-day, I thought—to-morrow; and nothing ever came of it.
Hilda. But why did you keep putting it off like that?
Solness. Because I was revolving something in my mind. [Slowly, and in a low voice.] Through that little black crack in the chimney, I might, perhaps, force my way upwards—as a builder.
