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Instead of "just so," he said "jist saow," and instead of "yes," "yies." "Yies, yies, yies," he said. "Jist saow, jist saow.... Don't be downhearted!" The doctor's quick, careless way of speaking, his well-fed face, and the condescending tone in which he said "my lad" exasperated Klimov. "Why do you call me 'my lad'?" he moaned. "Why this familiarity, damn it all?"
And he was frightened by the sound of his own voice. It was so dry, weak, and hollow that he could hardly recognise it. "Excellent, excellent," murmured the doctor, not at all offended. "Yies, yies. You mustn't be cross."
And at home the time galloped away as alarmingly quickly as in the train.... The light of day in his bedroom was every now and then changed to the dim light of evening.... The doctor never seemed to leave the bedside, and his "Yies, yies, yies," could be heard at every moment.
When the doctor appeared the lieutenant thought how nice his medicine was, how nice and sympathetic the doctor was, how nice and interesting people were, on the whole. "Yies, yies, yies," said the doctor. "Excellent, excellent. Now we are well again. Jist saow. Jist saow." The lieutenant listened and laughed gleefully.
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