MASHA. Twenty-eight.

TRIGORIN. And if I caught a perch or a bass, what bliss it would be!

DORN. I have great faith in Constantine. I know there is something in
him. He thinks in images; his stories are vivid and full of colour,
and always affect me deeply. It is only a pity that he has no definite
object in view. He creates impressions, and nothing more, and one cannot
go far on impressions alone. Are you glad, madam, that you have an
author for a son?

ARKADINA. Just think, I have never read anything of his; I never have
time.

MASHA. Twenty-six.

TREPLIEFF comes in quietly and sits down at his table.

SHAMRAEFF. [To TRIGORIN] We have something here that belongs to you,
sir.

TRIGORIN. What is it?

SHAMRAEFF. You told me to have the sea-gull stuffed that Mr. Constantine
killed some time ago.

TRIGORIN. Did I? [Thoughtfully] I don't remember.

MASHA. Sixty-one. One.