was bloody and revolting. She hastily glanced at Prokop; his face was turned away and twitched with pain. Annie shivered and swallowed her tears.
Meanwhile Prokop’s hand grew larger and larger; quantities of wadding, silk, and a good kilometre of bandages; finally an enormous white lump. Annie continued to hold the hand. Her knees shook; it seemed to her that this terrible operation would never be over. Suddenly her head began to swim and the next thing that she heard was her father saying: “Drink this quickly!” She opened her eyes and found that she was sitting in the armchair in the consulting-room and that her father was handing her a glassful of some stuff or other while Prokop was standing behind him, smiling and holding his bound hand, which looked like a huge doll, across his chest. “Drink it up,” repeated the doctor through his teeth. She swallowed the contents of the glass and nearly choked with coughing; it was murderously strong cognac.
“And now you,” said the doctor, and gave the glass to Prokop. Prokop was a trifle pale and valiantly awaited the scolding which was due to him. Finally the doctor himself drank, cleared his throat and said, “What exactly have you been doing?”
“An experiment,” said Prokop with the twisted smile of a guilty person.
“What? What experiment? Experiment with what?”
“Only billinghurst something with potassium chlorate.”
“What were you making?”
“An explosive,” whispered Prokop with the humiliation of a sinner.
