procure medical aid sooner, and declared there was no hope. And, in fact, the peasant did not get his brother home again; he died in the cart.
Three days later Bazarov came into his father's room and asked him if he had any caustic.
'Yes; what do you want it for?'
'I must have some ... to burn a cut.'
'For whom?'
'For myself.'
'What, yourself? Why is that? What sort of a cut? Where is it?'
'Look here, on my finger. I went to-day to the village, you know, where they brought that peasant with typhus fever. They were just going to open the body for some reason or other, and I've had no practice of that sort for a long while.'
'Well?'
'Well, so I asked the district doctor about it; and so I dissected it.'
Vassily Ivanovitch all at once turned quite white, and, without uttering a word, rushed to his study, from which he returned at once with a bit of caustic in his hand. Bazarov was about to take it and go away.
'For mercy's sake,' said Vassily Ivanovitch, 'let me do it myself.'
