After my lecture I sit at home and work. I read journals and monographs, or prepare my next lecture; sometimes I write something. I work with interruptions, as I have from time to time to see visitors. No one even looks into the ward except the barber. The patients are condemned to see day after day no one but Nikita.
     A rather strange rumour has, however, been circulating in the hospital of late.
     It is rumoured that the doctor has begun to visit Ward No. 6.
Mrs. Cox swallowed once or twice, with her hand at her throat, then in place of speech she nodded her head. In a moment she was alone, and mumbling to herself.
     And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through the deserted streets, from opposite directions. They met, panting, at the foot of the printing-office stairs; by the night-light there they read each other's face. Cox whispered:
     "Nobody knows about this but us?"
     The whispered answer was:
     "Not a soul -- on honour, not a soul!"
     "If it isn't too late to --"
     The men were starting up-stairs; at this moment they were overtaken by a boy, and Cox asked,
There is a ring at the bell. It is a colleague come to discuss some business matter with me. He comes in to me with his hat and his stick, and, holding out both these objects to me, says:
     "Only for a minute! Only for a minute! Sit down, _collega_! Only a couple of words."