Marcusandthedentistwalkedupthesilentstreetandreachedthelittledoghospital。Theyhadhardlyspokenontheway。McTeague’sbrainwasinawhirl；speechfailedhim。
Hewasbusythinkingofthegreatthingthathadhappenedthatnight，andwastryingtorealizewhatitseffectwouldbeuponhislife——hislifeandTrina’s。Assoonastheyhadfoundthemselvesinthestreet，Marcushadrelapsedatoncetoasullensilence，whichMcTeaguewastooabstractedtonotice。
Theyenteredthetinyofficeofthehospitalwithitsredcarpet，itsgasstove，anditscoloredprintsoffamousdogshangingagainstthewalls。Inonecornerstoodtheironbedwhichtheyweretooccupy。
“Yougoonan’gettobed，Mac，“observedMarcus。“I’lltakealookatthedogsbeforeIturnin。“
Hewentoutsideandpassedalongintotheyard，thatwasboundedonthreesidesbypenswherethedogswerekept。A