“You will have to learn many tedious things,” he finished, with an indulgent smile, “which you will forget the moment you have passed your final examination, but in anatomy it is better to have learned and lost than never to have learned at all.”
He took up the pelvis which was lying on the table and began to describe it. He spoke well and clearly.
At the end of the lecture the boy who had spoken to Philip in the pathological museum and sat next to him in the theatre suggested that they should go to the dissecting-room. Philip and he walked along the corridor again, and an attendant told them where it was. As soon as they entered Philip understood what the acrid smell was which he had noticed in the passage. He lit a pipe. The attendant gave a short laugh.
“You’ll soon get used to the smell. I don’t notice it myself.”
He asked Philip’s name and looked at a list on the board.
“You’ve got a leg—number four.”
Philip saw that another name was bracketed with his own.
“What’s the meaning of that?” he asked.
“We’re very short of bodies just now. We’ve had to put two on each part.”
The dissecting-room was a large apartment painted like the corridors, the upper part a rich salmon and the dado a dark terra-cotta. At regular intervals down the long sides of the room, at right angles with the wall, were iron slabs, grooved like meat-dishes; and on each lay a body. Most of them were men. They were very dark from the preservative in which they had been kept, and the skin had almost the look of leather. They were extremely emaciated. The attendant took Philip up to one of the slabs. A youth was standing by it.