into the man’s mouth.
“Get on with it, Fotherby.”
Fotherby tried to ignore the twitches the man before him made. After applying a tourniquet and, pinning Captain Tenterchilt’s leg still beneath him, he stretched the wound open far enough to allow the forceps into the man’s tissue. If he felt that at any point he was losing his control he considered all that weighed upon his success and, selfishly, he realised that it was not solely this man’s life, nor the happiness of his wife whose heartrending distress he had witnessed earlier, that was at stake. It was a proof that he could go on to achieve that goal he had dreamt of as a surgeon. As he delved further into the man’s leg, Captain Tenterchilt’s movements became more and more desperate so that Fotherby...
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