KULIGIN. Ah sir! there's a world of troubles! But, Boris Grigoritch, sir, what of him?
KABANOV. Oh, he, the scoundrel, is being sent off to Tiahta, to the Chinese. His uncle's sending him off to a merchant he knows there. He's to be there three years.
KULIGIN. Well, what does he say to it, sir?
KABANOV. Oh, he's wretched too; he weeps. His uncle and I, we set upon him not long ago, we swore at him—he didn't say a word. He seems like a wild thing. Do what you like to me, says he, only don't torment her! He's sorry for her too.
KULIGIN. He's a good fellow, sir.
KABANOV. He's packed up and ready, and the horses are ordered. He's so wretched, it's awful! I can see he wants to say good-bye to her. But that's too much! I can't have it. He's been an enemy to me, you know, Kuligin! He ought to be thrashed within an inch of his life to teach him ...
KULIGIN. We must forgive our enemies, sir!
KABANOV. You go and tell that to mamma, and see what she'll say to it. So, brother Kuligin, all our family is now split up and divided. We're not like relations but enemies to one another. Mamma kept nagging and nagging at Varvara; she couldn't stand it, and she soon made an end of it—she's simply gone away.
KULIGIN. Where has she gone?
KABANOV. No one knows. They do say she's run off with Vania Kudriash, and he can't be found anywhere either. It's all mamma's doing. I'll tell you frankly, Kuligin: she had started bullying her and locking her up. "Don't shut me up," she said, "or it will be the worse," and so it has turned out. What am I to do, tell me that! Tell me how I am to live now! My home is made loathsome to me, I'm put to shame before everyone, if I set about anything my hands drop listless and dejected. Here I'm on my way home now. Shall I find any happiness there, do you suppose? [Enter Glasha.