me.  And at last both of us began to lose ground.  And then you looked for somebody to put the blame on.  A new victim!  For you are weak, and you can never carry your own burdens of guilt and debt.  And so you picked me for a scapegoat and doomed me to slaughter.  But when you cut my thews, you didn’t realise that you were also crippling yourself, for by this time our years of common life had made twins of us.  You were a shoot sprung from my stem, and you wanted to cut yourself loose before the shoot had put out roots of its own, and that’s why you couldn’t grow by yourself.  And my stem could not spare its main branch—­and so stem and branch must die together.

Tekla.  What you mean with all this, of course, is that you have written my books.

Adolph.  No, that’s what you want me to mean in order to make me out a liar.  I don’t use such crude expressions as you do, and I spoke for something like five minutes to get in all the nuances, all the halftones, all the transitions—­but your hand-organ has only a single note in it.

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.)

Tekla.  Adolph!

(Adolph shakes his head at her.)

Tekla.  Adolph.

Adolph.  Yes.

Tekla.  Do you admit that you were unjust a moment ago?

Adolph.  Yes, yes, yes, yes, I admit!

Tekla.  And do you ask my pardon?

Adolph.  Yes, yes, yes, I ask your pardon—­if you only won’t speak to me!

Tekla.  Kiss my hand then!

Adolph. [Kissing her hand] I’ll kiss your hand—­if you only don’t speak to me!