"I know quite well that you will take it off."
"We shall do what we must do."
I divine that the corners of his mouth are drawn down a little, and that his lips are quivering. He thinks aloud:
"If only the other leg was all right!"
I have been thinking of that too, but I pretend not to have heard. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
I spend part of the afternoon sewing pieces of waterproof stuff together. He asks me:
"What are you doing?"
"I am making you a mask, to give you ether."
"Thank you; I can't bear the smell of chloroform."
I answer "Yes, that's why." The real reason is that we are not sure he could bear the brutal chloroform, in his present state.