Yes . . . me, too. (With strong inner agitation) You see, Vera Alexandrovna, I can’t stay. I’ve already caused a lot of trouble just by being here. For one thing, I’ve disturbed the peace here for you and Natalya Petrovna without knowing how. I’ve also broken up old friendships. Thanks to me, Mr. Rakitin is leaving, and you have quarreled with your guardian . . . It’s time to put a stop to it all. After I’m gone, I hope everything will settle down and fall back into place . . . Turning the heads of rich ladies and young girls is not for me . . . You’ll forget about me, and in time you may even be surprised at how it all could have happened . . . It surprises me even now . . . I’ll tell you the truth, Vera Alexandrovna: it’s frightening, it’s even eerie to think of staying . . . Anything can happen . . . You know, I’m not used to all this. It’s awkward for me . . . it feels like everybody’s looking at me . . . And, finally, it would be impossible for me . . . now . . . with the two of you . . .

VERA

Oh, don’t worry about me! I won’t be here for long.

BELYAEV

How’s so?

VERA

That’s my secret. But I won’t get in your way, believe me.

BELYAEV

So, you see, how can I not leave? Judge for yourself. It’s like I’ve brought a plague on this house: everybody’s fleeing the place . . . Isn’t it better for me alone to disappear while there’s still time? I’ve just had a big talk with Mr. Rakitin . . . You can’t imagine how bitter he sounds . . . He teased me about my new jacket, and it served me right . . . Yes, I’ve got to leave. Believe me, Vera Alexandrovna, I can’t wait for the moment when I go galloping in a cart down the high road . . . I’m suffocating here, I need air. I can’t tell you how bad I feel and at the same time how relieved, like a man setting out on a long journey across the sea: he’s heartsick at leaving his friends, he’s scared, and yet the noise of the sea is so cheerful, the wind blowing in his face is so fresh, that the blood rises in his veins, no matter how heavy his heart is . . . Yes, I’m set on leaving. I’ll go back to Moscow, to my friends, I’ll work . . .

VERA

So you love her, Alexei Nikolaich; you love her, and yet you’re leaving.

BELYAEV