mind. If his odor is really a congenital defect, as he
says, then there are ways of remedying it. You might
advise him to eat onion or garlic, or something of the
sort. Christian Ivanovich can help him out with some of
his nostrums.

The Doctor makes the same sound as before.

AMMOS. No, there's no cure for it. He says his nurse
struck him when he was a child, and ever since he has
smelt of vodka.

GOVERNOR. Well, I just wanted to call your attention
to it. As regards the internal administration and what
Andrey Ivanovich in his letter calls "little peccadilloes,"
I have nothing to say. Why, of course, there isn't a man
living who hasn't some sins to answer for. That's the
way God made the world, and the Voltairean freethinkers
can talk against it all they like, it won't do any good.

AMMOS. What do you mean by sins? Anton Antonovich?
There are sins and sins. I tell everyone plainly
that I take bribes. I make no bones about it. But
what kind of bribes? White greyhound puppies. That's
quite a different matter.

GOVERNOR. H'm. Bribes are bribes, whether puppies
or anything else.

AMMOS. Oh, no, Anton Antonovich. But if one has a