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Updated: May 11, 2025
"We have not come in to . . . er-er-er . . . supper, nor to see Yevgraf Kuzmitch. We have come to ask you, madam, where is Mark Ivanovitch whom you have murdered?" "What? What Mark Ivanovitch?" faltered the superintendent's wife, and her full face was suddenly in one instant suffused with crimson. "I . . . don't understand." "I ask you in the name of the law! Where is Klyauzov?
"A commercial town, but extremely cultured. . . . For instance, er-er-er . . . the head master of the high school, the public prosecutor . . . the officers. . . . The police captain, too, was not bad, a man, as the French say, enchanté, and the women, Allah, what women!" "Yes, the women . . . certainly. . . ."
"I, no . . . er-er-er. . . . It was not a lie, but I greatly regret having spoken too freely. . . . And, in fact . . . I don't understand your tone!" Klimov walked up and down the room in silence, as though in uncertainty and hesitation. His fleshy face grew more and more crimson, and the veins in his neck swelled up.
"Please, do be so good . . . take your words back . . ." said Klimov in extreme embarrassment. "I beg you to do so!" "If . . . er-er-er . . . it offends you, certainly," answered the actor, with an undefined movement of his hand. "And confess you have told a falsehood."
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