LUKA. I’m off to-night.
BUBNOFF. That’s right. Don’t outstay your welcome!
LUKA. True enough.
BUBNOFF. I know. Perhaps I’ve escaped the gallows by getting away in time . . .
LUKA. Well?
BUBNOFF. That’s true. It was this way. My wife took up with my boss. He was great at his trade—could dye a dog’s skin so that it looked like a raccoon’s—could change cat’s skin into kangaroo—muskrats, all sorts of things. Well—my wife took up with him—and they were so mad about each other that I got afraid they might poison me or something like that—so I commenced beating up my wife—and the boss beat me . . . we fought savagely! Once he tore off half my whiskers—and broke one of my ribs . . . well, then I, too, got enraged. . . . I cracked my wife over the head with an iron yard-measure—well—and altogether it was like an honest-to-God war! And then I saw that nothing really could come of it . . . they were planning to get the best of me! So I started planning—how to kill my wife—I thought of it a whole lot . . . but I thought better of it just in time . . . and got away . . .
LUKA. That was best! Let them go on changing dogs into raccoons!
BUBNOFF. Only—the shop was in my wife’s name . . . and so I did myself out of it, you see? Although, to tell the truth, I would have drunk it away . . . I’m a hard drinker, you know . . .
LUKA. A hard drinker—oh . . .