Mark André ’s Reviews > The Master Builder > Status Update

Solness Answer me, Hilda. What do you want of me?

Hilda I want my kingdom.

Solness H’m —

Solness Answer me, Hilda. What do you want of me?

Hilda I want my kingdom.

Solness H’m —

S. - Have you read any of the old sagas?
H. - Oh, yes when I use to read books, I
In the sagas you read about Vikings, who sailed to foreign lands, and plunder, and burned, and killed men
And carried off women
and kept them in captivity
took them home in their ships
and behave to them like — like the very worst of trolls.
I think that must have been thrilling.
To carry off women, eh?
To be carried off.

Have you read any of the old sagas?
Oh, yes when I use to read books, I
In the sagas you read about Vikings, who sailed to foreign lands, and plunder, and burned, and killed men
And carried off women
— and kept them in captivity
— took them home in their ships
— and behave to them like — like the very worst of trolls.
I think that must have been thrilling.
To carry off women, eh?
To be carried off.

Hilda Wangel enters by the hall door. She is of middle height, supple, and delicately built. Somewhat sunburnt. Dressed in a tourist costume, with skirt caught up for walking, a sailor’s collar open at the throat, and a small sailor’s hat on her head. Knapsack on back, plaid in strap, and an alpenstock.

Hilda [Goes straight up to Solness, her eyes sparkling with happiness.] Good evening!

Knut Brovik [Rises suddenly, as if in distress, from the table; breathes heavily and laboriously as he comes forward into the door way.] No, I can’t bear it much longer!

— Greek! Hand it to me! Shaun replied, plosively pointing to the cinnamon quistoquill behind his acoustrolobe.” finnegans wake

— Now? How good you are in explosition! How farflung is your fokloire and how velktingeling your volupkabulary!
O foibler, O flip, you’ve that wandervogl wail withyin!
The blarneyest blather in all Corneywall!
finnegans wake

— Now? How good you are in explosition! How farflung is your fokloire and how velktingeling your volupkabulary!
O foibler, O flip, you’ve that wandervogl wail withyin! finnegans wake

With balsinbal bimbies swarming tiltop. Comme bien, comme bien! Feefeel! Feefeel! And the Dutches dyin loffin at his pon peck de Barec. And all the mound reared. Till he wot not wot to begin he should. An infant sailing eggshells on the floor of a wet day would have more sabby.” finnegans wake