SATINE. Kleshtch?
LUKA. Yes—“There’s no work,” he shouted; “there isn’t anything . . .”
SATINE. He’ll get used to it. What could I do?
LUKA [softly] Look—here he comes!
[Kleshtch walks in slowly, his head bowed low.]
SATINE. Hey, widower! Why are you so down in the mouth? What are you thinking?
KLESHTCH. I’m thinking—what’ll I do? I’ve no food—nothing—the funeral ate up all . . .
SATINE. I’ll give you a bit of advice . . . do nothing! Just be a burden to the world at large!
KLESHTCH. Go on—talk—I’d be ashamed of myself . . .