TROFIMOV Yes. I’ll see them into town and to-morrow I’m off to Moscow.
LOPAKHIN. Yes.... I expect the professors don’t lecture nowadays; they’re waiting till you turn up!
TROFIMOV. That’s not your business.
LOPAKHIN. How many years have you been going to the university?
TROFIMOV. Think of something fresh. This is old and flat. [Looking for his goloshes] You know, we may not meet each other again, so just let me give you a word of advice on parting: “Don’t wave your hands about! Get rid of that habit of waving them about. And then, building villas and reckoning on their residents becoming freeholders in time—that’s the same thing; it’s all a matter of waving your hands about.... Whether I want to or not, you know, I like you. You’ve thin, delicate fingers, like those of an artist, and you’ve a thin, delicate soul....”
LOPAKHIN. [Embraces him] Good-bye, dear fellow. Thanks for all you’ve said. If you want any, take some money from me for the journey.
TROFIMOV. Why should I? I don’t want it.
LOPAKHIN. But you’ve nothing!
TROFIMOV. Yes, I have, thank you; I’ve got some for a translation. Here it is in my pocket. [Nervously] But I can’t find my goloshes!
VARYA. [From the other room] Take your rubbish away! [Throws a pair of rubber goloshes on to the stage.]