I shall never conquer this
completely. There will always be a doubt confronting me--a
question. I shall never again be able to lose myself in the
enjoyment of what makes life so wonderfully beautiful.
Rebecca (speaking over the back of his chair, softly). What do
you mean, John?
Rosmer (looking up at her). Calm and happy innocence.
Rebecca (taking a step backwards). Of course. Innocence. (A short
silence.)
Rosmer (resting his head on his hands with his elbows on the
table, and looking straight in front of him). How ingeniously--how
systematically--she must have put one thing together with another!
First of all she begins to have a suspicion as to my orthodoxy.
How on earth did she get that idea in her mind? Any way, she did;
and the idea grew into a certainty. And then--then, of course, it
was easy for her to think everything else possible. (Sits up in
his chair and, runs his hands through his hair.) The wild fancies
I am haunted with! I shall never get quit of them. I am certain
of that--certain. They will always be starting up before me to
remind me of the dead.
Rebecca. Like the White Horse of Rosmersholm.
Rosmer. Yes, like that. Rushing at me out of the dark--out of
the silence.
Rebecca. And, because of this morbid fancy of yours, you are
going to give up the hold you had just gained upon real life?
Rosmer. You are right, it seems hard--hard, Rebecca.
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