'Well, kill me, Panteley Eremyitch; as you will; but go back, I won't.'
'You won't come back?' Tchertop-hanov cocked the pistol.
'I won't go back, my dearie. Never in my life will I go back. My word is steadfast.'
Tchertop-hanov suddenly thrust the pistol into her hand, and sat down on the ground.
'Then, you kill me! Without you I don't care to live. I have grown loathsome to you--and everything's loathsome for me!'
Masha bent down, took up her bundle, laid the pistol on the grass, its mouth away from Tchertop-hanov, and went up to him.
'Ah, my dearie, why torture yourself? Don't you know what we gypsy girls are? It's our nature; you must make up your mind to it. When there comes weariness the divider, and calls the soul away to strange, distant parts, how is one to stay here? Don't forget your Masha; you won't find such another sweetheart, and I won't forget you, my dearie; but our life together's over!'
'I loved you, Masha,' Tchertop-hanov muttered into the fingers in which he had buried his face....
'And I loved you, little friend Panteley Eremyitch.'
'I love you, I love you madly, senselessly--and when I think now that you, in your right senses, without rhyme or reason, are leaving me like this, and going to wander over the face of the earth--well, it strikes me that if I weren't a poor penniless devil, you wouldn't be throwing me over!'