CHAPTER XIV
Meanwhile Doctor Thomas was sitting at breakfast grunting and puffing after working hard at a difficult delivery. From time to time he threw anxious and inquisitorial glances at Annie, who sat motionless, neither eating nor drinking, simply unable to believe that Prokop had not yet put in an appearance. Her lips were trembling and she was evidently about to cry. Then Prokop came in, with inappropriate buoyancy, pale, and incapable even of sitting down, as if he were ina hurry. He greeted her perfunctorily, giving her a casual glance as if he had never seen her before, and immediately asked with impulsive impatience: “Where’s your George?” The doctor swung round, disconcerted . . . “What?”
“Where is your son now?” repeated Prokop, and devoured him with threatening eyes.
“How should I know?” grunted the doctor. “I don’t want to hear of his existence.”
“Is he in Prague?” insisted Prokop, clenching his fists. The doctor was silent but within him something was working swiftly.
“I must see him,” said Prokop incoherently. “I must, do you hear? I must go and see him now, at once! Where is he?”
The doctor made a chewing movement with his jaws and walked towards the door.
“Where is he, where does he live?”
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