because you haven't had time to suffer till you settled a single one
of your questions? You boldly look forward, isn't it because you cannot
foresee or expect anything terrible, because so far life has been hidden
from your young eyes? You are bolder, more honest, deeper than we are,
but think only, be just a little magnanimous, and have mercy on me. I
was born here, my father and mother lived here, my grandfather too,
I love this house. I couldn't understand my life without that cherry
orchard, and if it really must be sold, sell me with it! [Embraces
TROFIMOV, kisses his forehead]. My son was drowned here.... [Weeps] Have
pity on me, good, kind man.

TROFIMOV. You know I sympathize with all my soul.

LUBOV. Yes, but it ought to be said differently, differently.... [Takes
another handkerchief, a telegram falls on the floor] I'm so sick at
heart to-day, you can't imagine. Here it's so noisy, my soul shakes at
every sound. I shake all over, and I can't go away by myself, I'm afraid
of the silence. Don't judge me harshly, Peter... I loved you, as if you
belonged to my family. I'd gladly let Anya marry you, I swear it, only
dear, you ought to work, finish your studies. You don't do anything,
only fate throws you about from place to place, it's so odd.... Isn't it
true? Yes? And you ought to do something to your beard to make it grow
better [Laughs] You are funny!

TROFIMOV. [Picking up telegram] I don't want to be a Beau Brummel.

LUBOV. This telegram's from Paris. I get one every day. Yesterday and
to-day. That wild man is ill again, he's bad again.... He begs for
forgiveness, and implores me to come, and I really ought to go to Paris
to be near him. You look severe, Peter, but what can I do, my dear, what
can I do; he's ill, he's alone, unhappy, and who's to look after
him, who's to keep him away from his errors, to give him his medicine
punctually? And why should I conceal it and say nothing about it; I love
him, that's plain, I love him, I love him.... That love is a stone round
my neck; I'm going with it to the bottom, but I love that stone and
can't live without it. [Squeezes TROFIMOV'S hand] Don't think badly of
me, Peter, don't say anything to me, don't say...

TROFIMOV. [Weeping] For God's sake forgive my speaking candidly, but
that man has robbed you!

LUBOV. No, no, no, you oughtn't to say that! [Stops her ears.]

TROFIMOV. But he's a wretch, you alone don't know it! He's a petty
thief, a nobody....