HILDA (looking at him attentively). You are ill,
Mr. Solness. Very ill, I almost think.
SOLNESS. Insane. You can say it. It’s what you mean.
HILDA. No, I don’t think you’ve lost your reason.
SOLNESS. What, then? Out with it!
HILDA. I’m wondering if maybe you didn’t enter life with a
frail conscience.
SOLNESS. A frail conscience? What in hell’s name does that
mean?
HILDA. I mean your conscience is very fragile. Overrefined, sort of. It isn’t made to struggle with things—to pick up what’s heavy and bear it.