how dare you say that about hjalmar ekdal? we can discuss it again when the first grass starts showing on her grave. then he'll bring it all up, all about the child so untimely torn from a loving father's heart. then you'll see him wallowing deeper and deeper in sentimentality and self-pity. just you watch. if you're right and i'm wrong, life will no longer be worth living. oh, life wouldn't be too bad if only these blessed people who come canvassing their ideals round everybody's door would leave us poor souls in peace. in that case, i'm glad my destiny is what it is. if i may ask, what is your destiny? to be 13th at table. the devil it is. it's interesting that ibsen, who is known for his masterful treatment of the well-made play, can still leave unanswered questions as the curtain falls-- whether hedvig considers herself to be the wild duck, or that hjalmar has felt any remorse or will fulfill the doctor's prophecy and rework these tragic events in his own memory, whether most of us need the life lie, what kind of idealism