From the work-in-progress, no dialogue this time. This might actually give a better sense of how these stories are turning out.
Tatyana drifted across the room to the wardrobe and placed two fingers on the right-hand door. She was curious about the state of some of Anton’s clothes, but unsure if the doorman would soon return. There would be ample time in the future to look over her husband’s suits and shirts. Turning her back on the armoire, Tatyana let her gaze fall upon the writing desk. In the middle of the green blotter sat a thick bundle of pages, tied with a long string. It was Anton’s dissertation, ready to be handed over to the committee. Tatyana tried to recall what the subject was that Anton had so labored to distill down into crystalline statements on paper. She could remember only the mention of discredited scientific ideas, such as garlic interfering with the magnetism of lodestone, and ingestion of mint inhibiting the natural clotting of blood. Or perhaps these were the new ideas which Anton was promoting in his dissertation. It was impossible to know, as the dissertation itself was so terribly dull, written in the opaque language of science, a tongue Tatyana believed no man actually understood though many pretended fluency.