VOITSKI. In account with [They sit silently writing.]
MARINA. [Yawning] The sand-man has come.
ASTROFF. How still it is. Their pens scratch, the cricket sings; it is so warm and comfortable. I hate to go. [The tinkling of bells is heard.]
ASTROFF. My carriage has come. There now remains but to say good-bye to you, my friends, and to my table here, and then—away! [He puts the map into the portfolio.]
MARINA. Don't hurry away; sit a little longer with us.
ASTROFF. Impossible.
VOITSKI. [Writing] And carry forward from the old debt two seventy-five—
WORKMAN comes in.
WORKMAN. Your carriage is waiting, sir.
ASTROFF. All right. [He hands the WORKMAN his medicine-case, portfolio, and box] Look out, don't crush the portfolio!