"There is one comfort," said Mr. Carlton, rallying and speaking in a
more cheerful voice. "The tumor is small and superficial in
character. The knife will not have to go very deep among the veins
and arteries."
Doctor Hillhouse did not correct his error.
"How long will it take?" queried the anxious husband, to whom the
thought of cutting down into the tender flesh of his wife was so
painful that it completely unmanned him.
"Not very long," answered the doctor.
"Ten minutes?"
"Yes, or maybe a little longer."
"She will feel no pain?"
"None."
"Nor be conscious of what you are doing?"
"She will be as much in oblivion as a sleeping infant," replied the
doctor.
Mr. Carlton turned from Dr. Hillhouse and walked the whole length of
the parlor twice, then stood still, and said, with painful
impressiveness:
"Doctor, I place her in your hands. She is ready for anything we may
decide upon as best."
He stopped and turned partly away to hide his feelings. But
recovering himself, and forcing a smile to his lips, he said:
"To your professional eyes I show unmanly weakness. But you must
bear in mind how very dear she is to me. It makes me shiver in every
nerve to think of the knife going down into her tender flesh. You
might cut me to pieces, doctor, if that would save her."
"Your fears exaggerate everything," returned Doctor Hillhouse, in an
assuring voice. "She will go into a tranquil sleep, and while
dreaming pleasant dreams we will quickly dissect out the tumor, and
leave the freed organs to continue their healthy action under the
old laws of unobstructed life.
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