WARD NO. 6 (via www.gutenberg.org)

A herd of deer, extraordinarily beautiful and graceful,of which he had been reading the day before, ran by him; then apeasant woman stretched out her hand to him with a registered letter. . . . Mihail Averyanitch said something, then it all vanished, andAndrey Yefimitch sank into oblivion for ever.

Next you come into a big, spacious room which fills up the whole lodge except for the entry. Here the walls are painted a dirty blue, the ceiling is as sooty as in a hut without a chimney–it is evident that in the winter the stove smokes and the room is full of fumes. The windows are disfigured by iron gratings on the inside. The wooden floor is grey and full of splinters. There is a stench of sour cabbage, of smouldering wicks, of bugs, and of ammonia, and for the first minute this stench gives you the impression of having walked into a menagerie.