house, but you don't even see a dry stick. So you sleep on the
ground. ...

KUSMA. Have you been long on this earth, old woman?

EFIMOVNA. Over seventy years, little father.

KUSMA. Over seventy years! You'll soon come to crow's years. [Looks
at BORTSOV] And what sort of a raisin is this? [Staring at BORTSOV]
Sir! [BORTSOV recognizes KUSMA and retires in confusion to a corner
of the room, where he sits on a bench] Semyon Sergeyevitch! Is that
you, or isn't it? Eh? What are you doing in this place? It's not
the sort of place for you, is it?

BORTSOV. Be quiet!

MERIK. [To KUSMA] Who is it?

KUSMA. A miserable sufferer. [Paces irritably by the counter]
Eh? In an inn, my goodness! Tattered! Drunk! I'm upset, brothers ...
upset. ... [To MERIK, in an undertone] It's my master ... our
landlord. Semyon Sergeyevitch and Mr. Bortsov. ... Have you ever
seen such a state? What does he look like? Just ... it's the drink
that brought him to this. ... Give me some more! [Drinks] I come
from his village, Bortsovka; you may have heard of it, it's 200
versts from here, in the Ergovsky district. We used to be his
father's serfs. ... What a shame!

MERIK. Was he rich?