"Yes," said the doctor. "Go on."
"He likes it," I said to myself, "and he must obviously be an excellent judge. I shall devote more time to mimicry in future. H'm! h'm! h'm!..."
The doctor came round to where I could see him again.
"Now cough like this," he said. "Honk! Honk!"
I gave my celebrated imitation of a sick rhinoceros gasping out its life. It went well. I got an encore.
"Um," he said gravely, "um." He put his stethoscope away and looked earnestly at me.
"Tell me the worst," I begged. "I'm not bothering about this stupid insurance business now. That's off, of course. But—how long have I? I must put my affairs in order. Can you promise me a week?"
He said nothing. He took my wrists in his hands and pressed them. It was evident that grief over-mastered him and that he was taking a silent farewell of me. I bowed my head. Then, determined to bear my death-sentence like a man, I said firmly, "So be it," and drew myself away from him.
However, he wouldn't let me go.
"Come, come," I said to him, "you must not give way," and I made an effort to release one of my hands meaning to pat him encouragingly on the shoulder.