GAEV. You gave them your purse, Luba. You can't go on like that, you can't!
LUBOV. I couldn't help myself, I couldn't! [They go out.]
LOPAKHIN. [In the doorway, calling after them] Please, I ask you most humbly! Just a little glass to say good-bye. I didn't remember to bring any from town and I only found one bottle at the station. Please, do! [Pause] Won't you really have any? [Goes away from the door] If I only knew--I wouldn't have bought any. Well, I shan't drink any either. [YASHA carefully puts the tray on a chair] You have a drink, Yasha, at any rate.
YASHA. To those departing! And good luck to those who stay behind! [Drinks] I can assure you that this isn't real champagne.
LOPAKHIN. Eight roubles a bottle. [Pause] It's devilish cold here.
YASHA. There are no fires to-day, we're going away. [Laughs]
LOPAKHIN. It's October outside, but it's as sunny and as quiet as if it were summer. Good for building. [Looking at his watch and speaking through the door] Ladies and gentlemen, please remember that it's only forty-seven minutes till the train goes! You must go off to the station in twenty minutes. Hurry up.
[TROFIMOV, in an overcoat, comes in from the grounds.]
TROFIMOV. I think it's time we went. The carriages are waiting. Where the devil are my goloshes? They're lost. [Through the door] Anya, I can't find my goloshes! I can't!
LOPAKHIN. I've got to go to Kharkov. I'm going in the same train as you. I'm going to spend the whole winter in Kharkov. I've been hanging about with you people, going rusty without work. I can't live without working. I must have something to do with my hands; they hang about as if they weren't mine at all.
TROFIMOV. We'll go away now and then you'll start again on your useful labours.
TROFIMOV Yes. I'll see them into town and to-morrow I'm off to Moscow.
LOPAKHIN. Yes.... I expect the professors don't lecture nowadays; they're waiting till you turn up!
LOPAKHIN. How many years have you been going to the university?
TROFIMOV. Think of something fresh. This is old and flat. [Looking for his goloshes] You know, we may not meet each other again, so just let me give you a word of advice on parting: "Don't wave your hands about! Get rid of that habit of waving them about. And then, building villas and reckoning on their residents becoming freeholders in time--that's the same thing; it's all a matter of waving your hands about.... Whether I want to or not, you know, I like you. You've thin, delicate fingers, like those of an artist, and you've a thin, delicate soul...."