I am not angry. I am telling the truth. You don't want to marry. You are disgusted with all your beaux. Why don't you go into a convent?
LIPA
I won't go into a convent, but I will go away from here, soon enough,
I think.
PELAGUEYA
Well, go! No one is keeping you. The road is wide open.
LIPA
Ah, Polya, you are angry and sulky with me. You don't know how I spend my nights thinking about you. At night I lie awake and think and think about you, and about all the people that are unhappy—all of them.
PELAGUEYA
What do you want to think about me for? You had better think about yourself.