[The interior of the hut as in Act I. Nan lies on the bench, and is covered with a coat. Mítritch is sitting on the oven smoking.]
MÍTRITCH: Dear me! How they've made the place smell! Drat 'em! They've been spilling the fine stuff. Even tobacco don't get rid of the smell! It keeps tickling one's nose so. Oh Lord! But it's bedtime, I guess. [Approaches the lamp to put it out].
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