Everyone left, and for the first time that week Nina had Alik to herself. Each time she went to him she was newly appalled. A few hours of alcohol-fortified sleep rested her soul: in sleep she blissfully forgot about this rare and peculiar disease which was draining the life from him with such terrible power, and every time she awoke she hoped that the spell would have passed and he would come to meet her with his usual “How are you doing, Bunny rabbit?” But he didn’t. She lay down beside him, covering his angular shoulder with her hair. He seemed to be asleep. His breathing was shallow and irregular. She listened closely. Without opening his eyes he said, “When will this damned heat end?” She jumped up and ran to the corner of the room, where Libin had arranged Maria Ignatevna’s herbal masterpieces in seven bottles on the floor. Taking the smallest one and removing the cork, she pushed it under Alik’s nose. It smelt of ammonia. “Better? Is that better?” she asked urgently.
