THE ACTOR. Step aside, you—don’t you see that we’re invalids?
KOSTILYOFF. Pass on, please! [Hums a religious tune, glances about him suspiciously, and bends his head to the left as if listening to what is happening in Pepel’s room. Kleshtch is jangling his keys and scraping away with his file, and looks askance at the other] Filing?
KLESHTCH. What?
KOSTILYOFF. I say, are you filing? [Pause] What did I want to ask? [Quick and low] Hasn’t my wife been here?
KLESHTCH. I didn’t see her.
KOSTILYOFF [carefully moving toward Pepel’s room] You take up a whole lot of room for your two rubles a month. The bed—and your bench—yes—you take up five rubles’ worth of space, so help me God! I’ll have to put another half ruble to your rent—
KLESHTCH. You’ll put a noose around my neck and choke me . . . you’ll croak soon enough, and still all you think of is half rubles—
KOSTILYOFF. Why should I choke you? What would be the use? God be with you—live and prosper! But I’ll have to raise you half a ruble—I’ll buy oil for the ikon lamp, and my offering will atone for my sins, and for yours as well. You don’t think much of your sins—not much! Oh, Andrushka, you’re a wicked man! Your wife is dying because of your wickedness—no one loves you, no one respects you—your work is squeaky, jarring on every one.
KLESHTCH [shouts] What do you come here for—just to annoy me?
[Satine grunts loudly.]