of toothache, or to a consultation, but to save a human life!" he
went on entreating like a beggar. "Life comes before any personal
sorrow! Come, I ask for courage, for heroism! For the love of
humanity!"

"Humanity--that cuts both ways," Kirilov said irritably. "In the
name of humanity I beg you not to take me. And how queer it is,
really! I can hardly stand and you talk to me about humanity! I am
fit for nothing just now. . . . Nothing will induce me to go, and
I can't leave my wife alone. No, no. . ."

Kirilov waved his hands and staggered back.

"And . . . and don't ask me," he went on in a tone of alarm. "Excuse
me. By No. XIII of the regulations I am obliged to go and you have
the right to drag me by my collar . . . drag me if you like, but . . .
I am not fit . . . I can't even speak . . . excuse me."

"There is no need to take that tone to me, doctor!" said Abogin,
again taking the doctor by his sleeve. "What do I care about No.
XIII! To force you against your will I have no right whatever. If
you will, come; if you will not--God forgive you; but I am not
appealing to your will, but to your feelings. A young woman is
dying. You were just speaking of the death of your son. Who should
understand my horror if not you?"

Abogin's voice quivered with emotion; that quiver and his tone were
far more persuasive than his words. Abogin was sincere, but it was
remarkable that whatever he said his words sounded stilted, soulless,
and inappropriately flowery, and even seemed an outrage on the