l my life beside this lake. I know every little island in it.

TRIGORIN. This is a beautiful place to live. [He catches sight of the
dead sea-gull] What is that?

NINA. A gull. Constantine shot it.

TRIGORIN. What a lovely bird! Really, I can't bear to go away. Can't you
persuade Irina to stay? [He writes something in his note-book.]

NINA. What are you writing?

TRIGORIN. Nothing much, only an idea that occurred to me. [He puts the
book back in his pocket] An idea for a short story. A young girl grows
up on the shores of a lake, as you have. She loves the lake as the gulls
do, and is as happy and free as they. But a man sees her who chances to
come that way, and he destroys her out of idleness, as this gull here
has been destroyed. [A pause. ARKADINA appears at one of the windows.]

ARKADINA. Boris! Where are you?

TRIGORIN. I am coming this minute.

He goes toward the house, looking back at NINA. ARKADINA remains at the
window.

TRIGORIN. What do you want?

ARKADINA. We are not going away, after all.

TRIGORIN goes into the house. NINA comes forward and stands lost in
thought.

NINA. It is a dream!

The curtain falls.

ACT III

_The dining-room of SORIN'S house. Doors open out of it to the right
and left. A table stands in the centre of the room. Trunks and boxes
encumber the floor, and preparations for departure are evident. TRIGORIN
is sitting at a table eating his breakfast, and MASHA is standing beside
him_.

MASHA. I am telling you all these things because you write books and
they may be useful to you. I tell you honestly, I should not have lived
another day if he had wounded himself fatally. Yet I am courageous; I
have decided to tear this love of mine out of my heart by the roots.

TRIGORIN. How will you do it?

MASHA. By marrying Medviedenko.

TRIGORIN. The school-teacher?

MASHA. Yes.

TRIGORIN. I don't see the necessity for that.

MASHA. Oh, if you knew what it is to love without hope for years and
years, to wait for ever for something that will never come! I shall not
marry for love, but marriage will at least be a change, and will bring
new cares to deaden the memories of the past. Shall we have another
drink?

TRIGORIN. Haven't you had enough?

MASHA. Fiddlesticks! [She fills a glass] Don't look at me with that
expression on your face. Women drink oftener than you imagine, but most
of them do it in secret, and not openly, as I do. They do indeed, and
it is always ei