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I think such a thing would be dishonorable! I may not be worth your regard, but I'm not the man to deceive you. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. It is impossible to believe you men; all men in the world are deceivers. MÍTYA. Let them be deceivers, but I am not. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. How can one know! Perhaps you also are deceiving me and want to play a joke on me! LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, Mítya, I didn't mean it.

"Are you asleep?" "No," answered the visitor. Zhmuhin got up, and thudding with his heels walked through the parlour and the entry to the kitchen to get a drink of water. "The worst thing in the world, you know, is stupidity," he said a little later, coming back with a dipper. "My Lyubov Osipovna is on her knees saying her prayers.

LYUBOV GRIGORYEVNA, a substantial, buxom lady of forty who undertook matchmaking and many other matters of which it is usual to speak only in whispers, had come to see Stytchkin, the head guard, on a day when he was off duty.

I haven't spoken to any one about my sorrow. GÚSLIN. Tell me about it. GÚSLIN. Yes, tell me; don't put on airs! MÍTYA. Whether I tell you or not, you can't help me! GÚSLIN. How do you know? I've fallen wildly in love with Lyubóv Gordéyevna. GÚSLIN. What's the matter with you, Mítya? Whatever do you mean? MÍTYA. Well, anyhow, it's a fact. GÚSLIN. You'd better put it out of your head, Mítya.

Someone came into the parlour as noiselessly as a shadow and stood still near the door. It was Lyubov Osipovna, Zhmuhin's wife. "Are you from the town?" she asked timidly, not looking at her visitor. "Yes, I live in the town." "Perhaps you are something in the learned way, sir; be so kind as to advise us. We ought to send in a petition." "To whom?" asked the visitor.

I have, Lyubov Grigoryevna, reached the age of fifty-two; that is a period of life at which very many have already grown-up children. My position is a secure one. Though my fortune is not large, yet I am in a position to support a beloved being and children at my side.

And they come home drunk, and bully their wives, and swagger. But an old man will just sit near his wife; he'll die before he'll leave her. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Did your deceased wife love you? LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. I just wanted to know. She wasn't worth loving I took her, poor, a beggar, just for her beauty; I took care of her whole family; I saved her father from prison; she went about in gold.

ARÍNA. Oh, wait, I can't attend to you now! My darling child! Girls, my dearies! "Thou art my own, my mother, Who grievest day by day, And at night to God dost pray. Thou who art so downcast, Look but once on her here, Thy daughter who was so dear For the last time the last." LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. For the last time.

Before you know it he will be running after some one else, or some young lady will fall in love with him, and then his wife may pine away. Then come reproaches and jealousy. And what is this jealousy, eh? He, he, he! Do you know, young lady, what this jealousy is? LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, I don't know. KÓRSHUNOV. But I know!

At the end of this song GORDÉY KÁRPYCH and KÓRSHUNOV go out; LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA remains in the embrace of her mother, surrounded by her friends. A small room in the house of TORTSÓV, furnished with cupboards of various sorts; chests and shelves with plates and silver. Furniture: sofas, armchairs, and tables, all very expensive and crowded together.