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Updated: June 29, 2025
"If it feels like rats, it's all right. Mine feels like rats, too. Don't you want to scratch?" "Yes, but they say I mustn't." "No, of course, you mustn't.... But you can always tap on the dressing a little with your finger. That is a relief." Lapointe leans over and examines Ropiteau's large wound. "Old chap, it's getting on jolly well. Same here; I'll show you presently.
It's red, the skin is beginning to grow again. But it is thin, very thin." Lapointe sits down to have his dressing cut away, then he makes a half turn towards Ropiteau. "You see getting on famously." Ropiteau admires unreservedly. "Yes, you're right. It looks first-rate." "And you know... such a beastly mess came out of it."
Lying on the table, the dressings removed from his thigh, Ropiteau waits to be tended, looking at a winter fly walking slowly along the ceiling, like an old man bowed down with sorrow. As soon as Ropiteau's wounds are laid bare, Lapointe, who is versed in these matters, opens the conversation. "What do they put on it?" "Well, only yellow spirit." "That's the strongest of all.
Since then, he has written to us, "business letters," prudent letters which he signs "a poor mutilated fellow." Lapointe and Ropiteau always meet in the dressing ward. Ropiteau is brought in on a stretcher, and Lapointe arrives on foot, jauntily, holding up his elbow, which is going on "as well as possible."
At this moment, the busy forceps cover up the wounds with the dressing, and the operation comes to an end. "So long!" says Lapointe to his elbow, casting a farewell glance at it. And he adds, as he gets to the door: "Now there are only the damned fingers that won't get on. But I don't care. I've made up my mind to be a postman." Bouchenton was not very communicative.
Ancient records of this disease are frequent, and in this century Lapointe reports the history of demonomania in father, mother, three sons, and two daughters, the whole family, with the exception of one son, who was a soldier, being attacked.
The same disciple, once a simple artisan, a shoemaker, we believe, M. Savinien Lapointe, has also composed Le petit Évangile de la Jeunesse de Béranger.
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