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FÉDYA. Excuse me! I did not speak to you and don't want your advice.
ARTÉMYEV. But I want to give it! You are a corpse; but suppose you come
to life again? Then they, your wife and that gentleman, who are so
happy--they would be bigamists, and at best would be sent to the less
distant parts of Siberia. So why should you lack money?
FÉDYA. I beg you to leave me alone.
ARTÉMYEV. Simply write a letter. I'll write it for you if you like; only
give me their address, and you'll be grateful to me.
FÉDYA. Be off, I tell you! I have told you nothing!
ARTÉMYEV. Yes, you have! Here's my witness. The waiter heard you say you
were a corpse.
WAITER. I know nothing about it.
FÉDYA. You scoundrel!
ARTÉMYEV. Am I a scoundrel? Eh, police! I'll give him in charge!
Fédya rises to go, but Artémyev holds him. Enter policeman.
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