ABSTRACT
I am as furious as a chained watchdog; I have twenty-three villages, yet up to the present I haven’t gotten as much as one cot and, probably, never will get that assistant who was promised me at the Medical Council. I drive from factory to factory begging, as if for alms, for premises to shelter my future patients. From morning to evening I am driving about, and I am already exhausted, even though cholera hasn’t appeared yet.
