PETUSHKÓV. He was offended.
FÉDYA. Well, let him be! I can't stand him. He is such a fellow, my words won't come when he is there. Now with you I feel at ease, and comfortable. Well, what was I saying?
PETUSHKÓV. You were speaking about your jealousy. And how was it you parted from your wife?
FÉDYA. Ah! [Pauses and considers] It's a curious story. My wife is married …
PETUSHKÓV. How's that? Are you divorced?
FÉDYA [smiles] No, I left her a widow.
PETUSHKÓV. What do you mean?
FÉDYA. I mean that she's a widow! I don't exist.
PETUSHKÓV. Don't exist?
FÉDYA. No, I'm a corpse! Yes … [Artémyev leans over, listening] Well, you see—I can tell you about it; and besides, it happened long ago; and you don't know my real name. It was this way. When I had tired out my wife and had squandered everything I could lay my hands on, and had become unbearable, a protector turned up for her. Don't imagine that there was anything dirty or bad about it—no, he was my friend and a very good fellow—only in everything my exact opposite! And as there is far more evil than good in me, it follows that he was a good—a very good man: honourable, firm, self-restrained and, in a word, virtuous. He had known my wife from her childhood, and loved her. When she married me he resigned himself to his fate. But later, when I became horrid and tormented her, he began to come oftener to our house. I myself wished it. They fell in love with one another, and meanwhile I went altogether to the bad, and abandoned my wife of my own accord. And besides, there was Másha. I myself advised them to marry. They did not want to, but I became more and more impossible, and it ended in …