Fédya. Let him be. I can't stand him. If he'd stayed I shouldn't have said a word. Now, it's different with you. You make me feel all comfortable, you know. Well, what was I saying?
Petushkóv. You were talking about your wife. How did you happen to separate?
Fédya. Oh, that? (A pause.) It's a rather curious story. My wife's married.
Petushkóv. Oh, I see! You're divorced.
Fédya. No. (Smiling.) She's a widow.
Petushkóv. A widow? What do you mean?
Fédya. I mean exactly what I say. She's a widow. I don't exist.
Petushkóv (puzzled). What?
Fédya (smiling drunkenly). I'm dead. You're talking to a corpse.
[ARTIMIEV leans towards them and listens intently.