"Not when you do it, Doctor," cried all three nurses together.
"Shall we put it under the microscope and see what it was?" asked the doctor jovially.
"Oh, yes, Doctor, do," responded the nurses.
They left him. Lampley felt the blood gushing from the wound in his body, heard the pulse in his neck grow faint. Weakness didn't diminish his pain, only made him less able to bear it. He judged the anaesthetic was wearing off; he moved dry tongue against cracked lips. If not for the loss of blood and the drag of pain he might be able to raise his arms, or at least turn his head to see what they were doing.
"A boy," said the doctor. "One little assistant less."
The nurses cackled. "Oh, Doctor, you're so witty. You're a regular killer."
The older nurse came over to the table and took the Governor's hand. "How do we feel?" she inquired perfunctorily, "now our little work is all done?"
Lampley groaned.
"Never better, ay? Well, girls will be girls, I always say. Once you've had your little work done you're good as new till next time. Shall we get dressed now?"