At the end of the table, the secretary was reading the decision in some case, but in such a mournful and monotonous voice that the condemned man himself would have fallen asleep while listening to it.

The judge, no doubt, would have been the first to do so had he not entered into an engrossing conversation while it was going on.
"I expressly tried to find out," said the judge, sipping his already cold tea from the cup, "how they manage to sing so well.

I had a splendid thrush two years ago.

Well, all of a sudden he was completely done for, and began to sing, God knows what! He got worse and worse and worse and worse as time went on; he began to rattle and get hoarse--just good for nothing! And this is how it happened: a little lump, not so big as a pea, had come under his throat.

It was only necessary to prick that little swelling with a needle--Zachar Prokofievitch taught me that; and, if you like, I'll just tell you how it was.