"Behold the dog dead of apoplexy," pronounced the sage; "this is a fine mode with no long suffering. But you do not seem fully convinced. I suppose you know how well laden I am with resources, and you think I have the method of restoring the respiration."
"No, I am not supposing that. The dog is truly not alive."
"Never mind, we will make assurance doubly sure by killing the canine twice. Lift off the receiver, Acharat."
The glass bell was removed and there lay the victim, never stirring, with eyes shut and heart without a
beat.
"Take the scalpel and sever the spinal column without cutting the larynx."
"I do so solely because you say it."
"And to finish the poor creature in case it be not dead," said the other, with the smile of obstinacy peculiar to the aged.
With one incision Balsamo separated the vertebral column a couple of inches from the brain, and opened a yawning gash. The body remained unmoving.
"He is an inert animal, icy cold, forever without movement, eh? You say nothing prevails against death? No power can restore even the appearance of life, far less life itself, to this carcass?"