The Boorby Anton Chekhov
Format of Original Source: Play
Recommended Adaptation Length:
Candidate for Adaptation? Promising
MRS. POPOV. It isn’t as well to shoot inside, let’s go into the garden.
SMIRNOV. Yes. I’ll tell you now that I am going to shoot into the air.
MRS. POPOV. That is too much. Why?
SMIRNOV. Because–because–That’s my business why.
MRS. POPOV. You are afraid. Yes. A-h-h-h. No, no, my dear sir, no welching. Please follow me. I won’t rest myself, until I’ve made a hole in your head that I hate so much. Are you afraid?
SMIRNOV. Yes, I’m afraid.
MRS. POPOV. You are lying. Why won’t you fight?
SMIRNOV. Because–because–I–like you.
MRS. POPOV [with an angry laugh]. You like me! He dares to say that he likes me. [She points to the door.] Go.
SMIRNOV [laying the revolver silently on the table, takes his hat and goes; at the door he stops a moment gazing at her silently, then he approaches her undecidedly]. Listen? Are you still angry? I was mad as the devil, but please understand me–how can I express myself?–The thing is like this–such things are–[He raises his voice.] How is it my fault that you owe me money? [Grasps the chair back which breaks.] The devil knows what breakable furniture you have! I like you! Do you understand?–I–I’m almost in love!
MRS. POPOV. Leave. I hate you.
SMIRNOV. Lord! What a woman! I never in my life met one like her. I’m lost, ruined! I’ve been caught like a mouse in a trap.
MRS. POPOV. Go, or I’ll shoot.
SMIRNOV. Shoot! You have no idea what happiness it would be to die in sight of those beautiful eyes, to die from the revolver in this little velvet hand–I’m mad!
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