how he's beating! He swings his great fists, as if he's asleep. And
there's no possibility of pacifying him; and for why? Why, because, as
you know yourself, Gavrila Andreitch, he's deaf, and what's more, has no
more wit than the heel of my foot. Why, he's a sort of beast, a heathen
idol, Gavrila Andreitch, and worse . . . a block of wood; what have I done
that I should have to suffer from him now? Sure it is, it's all over me
now; I've knocked about, I've had enough to put up with, I've been
battered like an earthenware pot, but still I'm a man, after all, and
not a worthless pot."

"I know, I know, don't go talking away. . ."

"Lord, my God!" the shoemaker continued warmly, "when is the end? when,
O Lord! A poor wretch I am, a poor wretch whose sufferings are endless!
What a life, what a life mine's been come to think of it! In my young
days, I was beaten by a German I was 'prentice to; in the prime of life
beaten by my own countrymen, and last of all, in ripe years, see what I
have been brought to. . ."

"Ugh, you flabby soul!" said Gavrila Andreitch. "Why do you make so many
words about it?"

"Why, do you say, Gavrila Andreitch? It's not a beating I'm afraid of,
Gavrila Andreitch. A gentleman may chastise me in private, but give me a
civil word before folks, and I'm a man still; but see now, whom I've to
do with . . ."

"Come, get along," Gavrila interposed impatiently. Kapiton turned away
and staggered off.