MRS. BORKMAN.
[Standing behind the bench.] So the night air has killed him——
ELLA RENTHEIM.
So it appears.
MRS. BORKMAN.
——strong man that he was.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Coming in front of the bench.] Will you not look at him,
Gunhild?
MRS. BORKMAN. [With a gesture of repulsion.] No, no, no. [Lowering her voice.] He was a miner's son, John Gabriel Borkman. He could not live in the fresh air.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
It was rather the cold that killed him.
MRS. BORKMAN. [Shakes her head.] The cold, you say? The cold—that had killed him long ago.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Nodding to her.] Yes—and changed us two into shadows.
MRS. BORKMAN.
You are right there.
ELLA RENTHEIM. [With a painful smile.] A dead man and two shadows—that is what the cold has made of us.
MRS. BORKMAN. Yes, the coldness of heart.—And now I think we two may hold out our hands to each other, Ella.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
I think we may, now.
MRS. BORKMAN.
We twin sisters—over him we have both loved.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
We two shadows—over the dead man.
[MRS. BORKMAN behind the bench, and ELLA RENTHEIM in front
of it, take each other's hand.
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