KULIGIN. Your mother is terribly hard.
KABANOV. Yes, indeed, she's the cause of it all. And what am I suffering for, tell me that? Here I've just come from Dikoy's, and well, we drank a bit; I thought it would drown care; but it has only made me worse, Kuligin! Ah, the wrong my wife has done me! It couldn't be worse....
KULIGIN. It's a difficult business, sir. It's difficult to judge between you.
KABANOV. No; nothing could be worse than what she's done! It wouldn't be much to kill her for it. There's mamma keeps saying: she ought to be buried alive to punish her! But I love her, I can't bear to lay a finger on her. I did give her a blow or two, but that was at mamma's bidding. It makes one wretched to see her, do you understand that, Kuligin. Mamma's just tormenting her to death, while she wanders about like a shadow, and makes no resistance. She only weeps, and she's wasting away like wax. It's simply breaking my heart to see her.
KULIGIN. You must make it up somehow, sir! You ought to forgive her, and never refer to it again. You are not without sin yourself, I daresay!
KABANOV. I should think not!
KULIGIN. And you must never reproach her even when you're drunk! She would be a good wife to you yet, sir, better than any—believe me.
KABANOV. But understand me, Kuligin; I'd never say a word, but mamma ... do you suppose one can get over her!...
KULIGIN. It's time you were guided, sir, by your own good sense, sir.
KABANOV. My own good sense! I've got none, I'm told, and so I'm to live by other people's! I declare I'll drink away whatever sense I have left, and then mamma can look after me as much as she likes, when I'm crazy.