Stepanìda. You and I are getting old, little father.
Shiryàlov. I turned this way and that, on one side and the other; no use, ma’am; it would just leave off a minute, and then catch me again. It seemed to go right to my heart.
Stepanìda. Dear! dear!
Antìp. I say, Paramòn Ferapòntych, haven’t you been going it rather too much with your chums?
Shiryàlov. No indeed, sir; I haven’t had a drop of liquor in my mouth; not for over a month, Stepanìda Trofimovna! That is, I don’t say that I’ve given it up for altogether; only for a little while. I won’t say I’ll never touch it again; the flesh is weak, as the Holy Scripture says.
Stepanìda. Very true, little father!
Shiryàlov. I’ll tell you what I think, neighbours; I must have caught cold, somehow; maybe going out in the street without buttoning my coat, or standing out in the garden in my shirt after dark.
Stepanìda. Yes, yes; it’s so easy to go wrong, little father! Let me give you some tea, Paramòn Ferapòntych.
Shiryàlov (bows). Thank you, ma’am, thank you; I’ve just had tea.
Stepanìda. Never mind, little father, have some more.