A grimace passed over his face, and he stared at me with suspicion.
"Tumen? Who are you?"
"I hardly think my name would tell you anything, doctor. Here is the letter." He stopped my movement:
"Please, please, not here. Let's go in. Don't be so sure of this place."
We entered the dining room, and he took the letter and opened the envelope. After reading—there were no more than two pages—he said:
"No answer. Do you know the contents?"
"I don't. But I can guess."
"Oh! Is that so?"
All of this commenced to irritate me. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Very well, very well," the doctor said, "we must not be offended. You know what times we live in. Won't you sit down, please?"
The doctor was very nervous: rubbed his hands, looked around and showed other signs of impatience. Finally he expressed what was in his mind.