Hilda. [Half-laughing.] And all those blessëd devils, that you know so well—both the light-haired and the dark-haired ones.
Solness. [Quietly and warmly.] Then I hope with all my heart that the devils will choose carefully for you, Hilda.
Hilda. For me they have chosen already—once and for all.
Solness. [Looks earnestly at her.] Hilda—you are like a wild bird of the woods.
Hilda. Far from it. I don't hide myself away under the bushes.
Solness. No, no. There is rather something of the bird of prey in you.
Hilda. That is nearer it—perhaps. [Very vehemently.] And why not a bird of prey? Why should not I go a-hunting—I, as well as the rest? Carry off the prey I want—if only I can get my claws into it, and do with it as I will.
Solness. Hilda—do you know what you are?
Hilda. Yes, I suppose I am a strange sort of bird.
