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VOYNITSKY AND SONYA

SONYA: And you, Uncle George, have been drinking champagne again with Fyodor and driving about with him in a troika. The bright birds singing together! Well, Fyodor is a downright born rake; but you, what makes you behave like that? At your time of life it does not at all become you.

VOYNITSKY: Time of life has nothing to do with it. If there’s no real life, one lives by illusions. Anyhow, it’s better than nothing.

SONYA: The hay hasn’t been gathered in; Guerasim said to-day that the rain would rot it away; and you are busy with illusions. (Frightened.) Uncle, there are tears in your eyes!

VOYNITSKY: Tears? Not a bit … nonsense! . . You just looked at me as your dead mother used to look. My dear! … (Eagerly kissing her hands and face.) My sister … my sweet sister! … Where is she now? If she knew . Oh, if she only knew!

SONYA: What? If she knew what, uncle?

VOYNITSKY: It is hard, bad… (Enter KHROUSCHOV.) No matter… I’ll tell you afterwards… I’ll go…

[Goes out.