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Updated: May 24, 2025
“Certainly not,” returned the sculptor. “Just rub him well over with this oil, especially his head, and then you can go. Dr. Carnell will settle with you.” “All right, sir.” The fellow did as ordered, and retired without another word; leaving this strange couple, the living and the dead, in that dismal chamber. Mr. Fiddyes was a man of strong nerve in such matters.
The muscles are admirably made out, the flesh well modelled, wonderfully so for the size and material; and yet—by the bye, on this point you must know more than I—the more I think upon the matter, the more I regard the artistic conception as utterly false and wrong.” “You speak in a riddle,” replied Dr. Carnell; “but pray go on, and explain.”
The instruction is all in the hands of trained teachers, mostly from the college, including as Director the lady Dean of the College, Dr. Laura H. Carnell. In the afternoon the Sunday Schools meet. The youngest children are enrolled in the primary or kindergarten department.
He at first gazed wildly upon the still suspended body, so painfully recalled to life by the rough venesection of the hangman and the subsequent friction of anointing his body to prevent the adhesion of the plaster. “You need not fear now,” said Dr. Carnell; “I assure you he is dead.” “But he was alive, surely!”
It raised itself convulsively for a single moment; its eyes rolled, and it gave vent to a subdued moan of intense agony. Mr. Fiddyes fell fainting on the floor as Dr. Carnell entered. It needed but a glance to tell the doctor what had happened, even had not Peter just then given vent to another low cry. The surgeon’s measures were soon taken.
Carnell skilfully flayed the body, to enable a second mould to be taken of the entire figure, showing every muscle of the outer layer. The two moulds were thus taken. It is difficult to conceive more ghastly appearances than they presented.
For sculptor’s work they were utterly useless; for no artist except the most daring of realists would have ventured to indicate the horrors which they presented. Fiddyes refused to receive them. Dr. Carnell, hard and cruel as he was, for kindness’ sake, in his profession, was a gentle, genial father of a family of daughters.
It was named shortly afterward Cutthroat Bridge, and for this reason. While Mr. Fiddyes and Dr. Carnell were discoursing over their wine, as we have already seen, one Peter Starke, a drunken Chelsea pensioner, was murdering his wife upon the spot we have last indicated. The coincidence was curious. In those days the punishment of criminals followed closely upon their conviction.
A room within the prison had been, upon that special occasion and by high authority, allotted to the use of Dr. Carnell and Mr. Fiddyes, the famous sculptor, for the purpose of certain investigations connected with art and science. In that room Mr.
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