Hawver was apparently growing nervous.

"I knew him. I have read his book, as will every physician some day.
It is one of the most striking and important of the century's
contributions to medical science. Yes, I knew him; I attended him in
an illness three years ago. He died."

Hawver sprang from his chair, manifestly disturbed. He strode
forward and back across the room; then approached his friend, and in
a voice not altogether steady, said: "Doctor, have you anything to
say to me--as a physician?"

"No, Hawver; you are the healthiest man I ever knew. As a friend I
advise you to go to your room. You play the violin like an angel.
Play it; play something light and lively. Get this cursed bad
business off your mind."

The next day Hawver was found dead in his room, the violin at his
neck, the bow upon the strings, his music open before him at Chopin's
funeral march.



MOXON'S MASTER



"Are you serious?--do you really believe that a machine thinks?"

I got no immediate reply; Moxon was apparently intent upon the coals