TEKLA. Yes, but the summary of the whole story is that you have
written my books.
ADOLPH. No, there is no summary. You cannot reduce a chord into a
single note. You cannot translate a varied life into a sum of one
figure. I have made no blunt statements like that of having
written your books.
TEKLA. But that's what you meant!
ADOLPH. [Beyond himself] I did not mean it.
TEKLA. But the sum of it--
ADOLPH. [Wildly] There can be no sum without an addition. You get
an endless decimal fraction for quotient when your division does
not work out evenly. I have not added anything.
TEKLA. But I can do the adding myself.
ADOLPH. I believe it, but then I am not doing it.
TEKLA. No. but that's what you wanted to do.
ADOLPH. [Exhausted, closing his eyes] No, no, no--don't speak to
me--you'll drive me into convulsions. Keep silent! Leave me alone!
You mutilate my brain with your clumsy pincers--you put your claws
into my thoughts and tear them to pieces!
(He seems almost unconscious and sits staring straight ahead while
his thumbs are bent inward against the palms of his hands.)
TEKLA. [Tenderly] What is it? Are you sick?
(ADOLPH motions her away.
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