The older man stroked his beard, leaned against the mantelpiece, and stared at the ground.
"Hopeless," he said, lowering his voice, for fear of being overheard by the patient.
The other nodded his head--in sign of agreement--of complicity, you might say.

Both men fell silent like two guilty children.

Their eyes met again.
"How old is he ?" "Fifty-three." "Lucky to live so long," the young doctor remarked.
To which the old man retorted philosophically: "Yes, indeed.

But his luck won't hold out any longer." A silence.

The man with the grey beard murmured: "I detected sarcoma." He put his finger on his neck.