. ."
Doctor Jamieson's story of his famous coon dog was never entirely
completed. His voice droned away and ceased now, as he bent once
more over his work.
What he did, so far as he in his taciturn way ever would admit, was
in some way to poke the catgut violin string under the bone, with
the end of the probe, and so to pass a ligature around the broken
bone itself. After that, it was easier to fasten the splinter back
in place where it belonged.
Doctor Jamieson used all his violin string. Then he cleaned the
wound thoroughly, and with a frank brutality drenched it with
turpentine, as he would have done with a horse or a dog; for this
burning liquid was the only thing at hand to aid him. His own eyes
grew moist as he saw the twitching of the burned tissues under this
infliction, but his hand was none the less steady. The edge of the
great table was splintered where Dunwody's hands had grasped it.
The flesh on the inside of his fingers was broken loose under his
grip.
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