Mítritch. I was living with a tradesman in town, but drank all I had there. Now I've come back to the village. I've no home, so I've gone into service. (Gapes.) Oh Lord!
Akím. But how's that, what d'you call it, or what's name, Nikíta, what does he do? Has he some business, I mean besides, that he should hire a laborer, a laborer, I mean, hire a laborer?
Anísya. What business should he have? He used to manage, but now he's other things on his mind, so he's hired a laborer.
Mítritch. Why shouldn't he, seeing he has money?
Akím. Now that's what d'you call it, that's wrong, I mean, quite wrong, I mean. That's spoiling oneself.
Anísya. Oh, he has got spoilt, that spoilt, it's just awful.
Akím. There now, what d'you call it, one thinks how to make things better, and it gets worse I mean. Riches spoil a man, spoil, I mean.
Mítritch. Fatness makes even a dog go mad; how's one not to get spoilt by fat living? Myself now; how I went on with fat living. I drank for three weeks without being sober. I drank my last breeches. When I had nothing left, I gave it up. Now I've determined not to. Bother it!
Akím. And where's what d'you call, your old woman?
Mítritch. My old woman has found her right place, old fellow. She's hanging about the gin-shops in town. She's a swell too; one eye knocked out, and the other black, and her muzzle twisted to one side. And she's never sober; drat her!