He stepped away and dipped a rusty mug into a barrel of water. But the water was warm, and instead of being refreshed, Gosławski felt the perspiration breaking out still more. He was losing his strength.
"What's the time?" he asked his neighbour.
"A quarter to twelve. Will you finish work to-day?"
"Yes, I think so. I must still take a hair's-breadth off the cylinder; but, damn it! I see everything double."
"It's the heat—the heat!" repeated the neighbour, taking another pinch of snuff and moving away.
Gosławski measured the diameter of the cylinder, moved the cutting tool, clamped it with the screws, and once more set the machine in motion. After the momentary strain of attention there followed a reaction in him, and he began to doze standing, his eyes fixed on the shining surface of the cylinder, on which drops of water were falling.
"Did you speak?" he suddenly asked his neighbour.
But the man, bending over his work, did not hear the question.
At that moment Gosławski fancied that he was at home: his wife and children are asleep; the lamp, turned low, is burning on the chest of drawers; his bed is ready for him.... Yes, here is the table, there is the chair! Worn out with fatigue, he wants to sit down on the chair; he leans his heavy arm on the edge of the table....
The lathe made a strange noise. Something cracked in it and began to go to pieces, and a dreadful human shriek resounded through the workroom....