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ters at the back of the stage playing his guitar. Thoughtfully:] Epikhodov's there. ANYA. [Thoughtfully] Epikhodov's there. GAEV. The sun's set, ladies and gentlemen. TROFIMOV. Yes. GAEV [Not loudly, as if declaiming] O Nature, thou art wonderful, thou shinest with eternal radiance! Oh, beautiful and indifferent one, thou whom we call mother, thou containest in thyself existence and death, thou livest and destroyest.... VARYA. [Entreatingly] Uncle, dear! ANYA. Uncle, you're doing it again! TROFIMOV. You'd better double the red into the middle. GAEV. I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet. [They all sit thoughtfully. It is quiet. Only the mumbling of FIERS is heard. Suddenly a distant sound is heard as if from the sky, the sound of a breaking string, which dies away sadly.] LUBOV. What's that? LOPAKHIN. I don't know. It may be a bucket fallen down a well somewhere. But it's some way off. GAEV. Or perhaps it's some bird... like a heron. TROFIMOV. Or an owl. LUBOV. [Shudders] It's unpleasant, somehow. [A pause.] FIERS. Before the misfortune the same thing happened. An owl screamed and the samovar hummed without stopping. GAEV. Before what misfortune? FIERS. Before the Emancipation. [A pause.] LUBOV. You know, my friends, let's go in; it's evening now. [To ANYA] You've tears in your eyes.... What is it, little girl? [Embraces her.] ANYA. It's nothing, mother. TROFIMOV. Some one's coming. [Enter a TRAMP in an old white peaked cap and overcoat. He is a little drunk.] TRAMP. Excuse me, may I go this way straight through to the station? GAEV. You may. Go along this path. TRAMP. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. [Hiccups] Lovely weather.... [Declaims] My brother, my suffering brother.... Come out on the Volga, you whose groans... [To VARYA] Mademoiselle, please give a hungry Russian thirty copecks.... [VARYA screams, frightened.] LOPAKHIN. [Angrily] There's manners everybody's got to keep! LUBOV. [With a start] Take this... here you are.... [Feels in her purse] There's no silver.... It doesn't matter, here's gold. TRAMP. I am deeply grateful to you! [Exit. Laughter.] VARYA. [Frightened] I'm going, I'm going.... Oh, little mother, at home there's nothing for the servants to eat, and you gave him gold. LUBOV. What is to be done with such a fool as I am! At home I'll give you everything I've got. Ermolai Alexeyevitch, lend me some more!... LOPAKHIN. Very well.
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