NEIGHBOUR. Yes, it's true enough. Who wants to marry where there are children? There now, there's our Michael. He's such a fellow, dear me …
PEASANT'S VOICE. Hullo, Mávra. Where the devil are you? Go and drive the cow in.
Exit Neighbour.
MATRYÓNA [while the Neighbour is within hearing speaks in her ordinary voice] Yes, lass, thank goodness, she's married. At any rate my old fool won't go bothering about Nikíta. Now [suddenly changing her tone], she's gone! [Whispers] I say, did you give him the tea?
ANÍSYA. Don't speak about it. He'd better die of himself. It's no use—he doesn't die, and I have only taken a sin on my soul. O-oh, my head, my head! Oh, why did you give me those powders?
MATRYÓNA. What of the powders? The sleeping powders, lass,—why not give them? No evil can come of them.
ANÍSYA. I am not talking of the sleeping ones, but the others, the white ones.
MATRYÓNA. Well, honey, those powders are medicinal.
ANÍSYA [sighs] I know, yet it's frightening. Though he's worried me to death.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and did you use many?