LUKA. What is it, brother?
KLESHTCH [quietly] Nothing . . .
[Crosses slowly to hallway door, stands on the threshold for a few seconds, and exit.]
LUKA [looking after him] Hard on your man, isn’t it?
ANNA. He doesn’t concern me much . . .
LUKA. Did he beat you?
ANNA. Worse than that—it’s he who’s killed me—
BUBNOFF. My wife used to have a lover—the scoundrel—how clever he was at checkers!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Hm-hm—