half a glass!

TIHON. [Shakes his head] The money!

BORTSOV. My God, haven't I told you! I've drunk it all! Where am I
to get it? And you won't go broke even if you do let me have a drop
of vodka on tick. A glass of it only costs you two copecks, and it
will save me from suffering! I am suffering! Understand! I'm in
misery, I'm suffering!

TIHON. Go and tell that to someone else, not to me. ... Go and ask
the Orthodox, perhaps they'll give you some for Christ's sake, if
they feel like it, but I'll only give bread for Christ's sake.

BORTSOV. You can rob those wretches yourself, I shan't. ... I won't
do it! I won't! Understand? [Hits the bar-counter with his fist] I
won't. [A pause.] Hm ... just wait. ... [Turns to the pilgrim
women] It's an idea, all the same, Orthodox ones! Spare five
copecks! My inside asks for it. I'm ill!

FEDYA. Oh, you swindler, with your "spare five copecks." Won't you
have some water?

BORTSOV. How I am degrading myself! I don't want it! I don't want
anything! I was joking!

MERIK. You won't get it out of him, sir. ... He's a famous
skinflint. ... Wait, I've got a five-copeck piece somewhere. ...
We'll have a glass between us--half each [Searches in his pockets]
The devil ... it's lost somewhere. ... Thought I heard it tinkling