USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. What's the matter, are you in your right mind, my jewel?
PODKHALYÚZIN. You'll see!
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. May I die before to-night, but you're either drunk, my jewel, or you've wandered clean out of your head.
PODKHALYÚZIN. Be so good as not to trouble yourself about that; you look out for yourself; but I know what I know.
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. Well, what do you know?
PODKHALYÚZIN. No matter what I know, ma'am.
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. If you know something, tell me what it is: I suppose your tongue won't fall off.
PODKHALYÚZIN. That's the point of the thing—that I can't tell it.
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. Why can't you? Why do you hesitate to tell me, my jewel?
Go ahead, talk—it doesn't matter what it is.
PODKHALYÚZIN. It's not a matter of conscience. But if I tell you, of course you'll go and blab!