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Karenin lay on the bed with a soft white rug about him, and Fowler, who was to be his surgeon sat on the edge of the bed and talked to him. An assistant was seated quietly in the shadow behind the bed. The examination had been made, and Karenin knew what was before him. He was tired but serene.

"So I shall die," he said, "unless you operate?"

Fowler assented.

"And then," said Karenin, smiling, "probably I shall die."

"Not certainly."

'Even if I do not die; shall I be able to work?'

"There is just a chance"

"So firstly I shall probably die, and if I do not, then perhaps I shall be a useless invalid?"

"I think if you live, you may be able to go on—as you do now."

"Well, then, I suppose I must take the risk of it. Yet couldn't you, Fowler, couldn't you drug me and patch me instead of all this—vivisection? A few days of drugged and active life—and then the end?"