Arìna. Indeed? Be so kind as to sit down.
(Enter Starikòv.)
Star. (bows to the company in a rapid, off-hand, business manner, with one arm akimbo). Arìna Pantelèymovna, how do you do, little mother? The lads on the Arcade told me that you had some wool to sell.
Agàfia (turning her back contemptuously and speaking under her breath, but so that he hears). This isn’t a stall in a bazaar!
Star. Oh, oh! Seems I’ve come at the wrong time! I doubt you’ve settled your business without me.
Arìna. Sit down, sit down, Alexièy Dmìtrievich; we’ve no wool to sell, but we’re glad to see you; please sit down. (All sit down; silence.)
Yaìch. It’s very strange weather to-day. Early in the morning it looked quite like rain, but now it seems to have gone over.
Agàfia. Yes, indeed, this weather is quite extraordinary; sometimes it’s bright, and then again it gets wet and rainy—it’s very disagreeable.
Zhev. Ah, little mother! When our squadron was in Sicily it was spring-time—with us it would be February—they have the new calendar, you know—when we went out into the street it would be quite sunny, and then it would begin to rain, and it would be just like real ordinary rain.
Yaìch. The most disagreeable thing is to sit alone in such weather. It’s all very well for a married man—that’s quite another thing—but when one lives alone it’s really——