FRIAR
Mr. Savva.
SAVVA
Have you got a cigarette?
FRIAR
No, I don't smoke. (Plaintively) Come to the woods, Mr. Savva. (Savva remains immovable and silent) They'll kill you, Mr. Tropinin. Come to the woods—please come! (Savva looks fixedly at him, then silently turns and walks away) Mr. Tropinin, on my word you had better come with me to the woods.
LIPA
Leave him alone. He is like Cain. He can't find a place on the earth.
Everybody is rejoicing, and he—
FRIAR
His face is black. I am sorry for him.