Monologue

Ast Monologue from The Little Stone House

From The Little Stone House by George Calderon

male · anguished · 43 sec

We are none of us perfect. His friends were ill-chosen. The hard-earned money that Praskóvya thought was spent on University expenses went on many other things—on drink, on women, and on gambling. But he did one good thing—he hid it all safely from his mother. I helped him in that. Together we kept her idea safe through a difficult period. And before he was twenty it was all over—he was dead. Fomá. Yes, he was murdered by some foreigner, I know.

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