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Updated: May 14, 2025
Gautreau exclaimed: "Monsieur Bassin, Monsieur Bassin, you're hurting me." "Not Bassin, but Boussin," replied the old man calmly. "Well, Boussin, if you like." There was a silence, and then Gautreau suddenly added: "Monsieur Bassin, you are killing me with these antics." "No fear!" "Monsieur Bassin, I tell you you're killing me." "Just a second more."
Gautreau went into the operating ward saying: "It feels queer to be walking on dry ground when you've just come off the slime. You see: it's only a scratch. But one never knows: there may be some bits left in it." Dr. Boussin probed the wound, and felt the cracked bone. He was an old surgeon who had his own ideas about courage and pain. He made up his mind. "I am in a hurry; you are a man.
There is just a little something to be done to you. Kneel down there and don't stir." A few minutes later, Gautreau was on his knees, holding on to the leg of the table. His head was covered with blood-stained bandages, and Dr. Boussin, chisel in hand, was tapping on his skull with the help of a little mallet, like a sculptor.
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