ours, not yours!

LOMOV. No, mine, honoured Natalya Stepanovna.

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Well, I never knew that before. How do you make
that out?

LOMOV. How? I'm speaking of those Oxen Meadows which are wedged in
between your birchwoods and the Burnt Marsh.

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Yes, yes. ... They're ours.

LOMOV. No, you're mistaken, honoured Natalya Stepanovna, they're
mine.

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Just think, Ivan Vassilevitch! How long have
they been yours?

LOMOV. How long? As long as I can remember.

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Really, you won't get me to believe that!

LOMOV. But you can see from the documents, honoured Natalya
Stepanovna. Oxen Meadows, it's true, were once the subject of
dispute, but now everybody knows that they are mine. There's
nothing to argue about. You see, my aunt's grandmother gave the
free use of these Meadows in perpetuity to the peasants of your
father's grandfather, in return for which they were to make bricks
for her. The peasants belonging to your father's grandfather had
the free use of the Meadows for forty years, and had got into the