{"id":"01KG8AMH6FM4GT8PFMV7H0CEZB","cid":"bafkreicn4x5nhmu62froa5w7juqf4jjdqxhscvtzio5udrygk3yjsjfiqi","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":10080,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 5","source_file":"01KG89J19NC56FFGBCM2SWEZZY","start_line":10009,"text":"upon this thigh-bone”—disengaging it from the skeleton, with a gentle\r\ntwist—“the precise place where I propose to perform the operation.\r\n_Here_, young gentlemen, _here_ is the place. You perceive it is very\r\nnear the point of articulation with the trunk.”\r\n\r\n“Yes,” interposed Surgeon Wedge, rising on his toes, “yes, young\r\ngentlemen, the point of articulation with the _acetabulum_ of the _os\r\ninnominatum_.”\r\n\r\n“Where’s your Bell on Bones, Dick?” whispered one of the assistants to\r\nthe student next him. “Wedge has been spending the whole morning over\r\nit, getting out the hard names.”\r\n\r\n“Surgeon Wedge,” said Cuticle, looking round severely, “we will\r\ndispense with your commentaries, if you please, at present. Now, young\r\ngentlemen, you cannot but perceive, that the point of operation being\r\nso near the trunk and the vitals, it becomes an unusually beautiful\r\none, demanding a steady hand and a true eye; and, after all, the\r\npatient may die under my hands.”\r\n\r\n“Quick, Steward! water, water; he’s fainting again!” cried the two\r\nmess-mates.\r\n\r\n“Don’t be alarmed for your comrade; men,” said Cuticle, turning round.\r\n“I tell you it is not an uncommon thing for the patient to betray some\r\nemotion upon these occasions—most usually manifested by swooning; it is\r\nquite natural it should be so. But we must not delay the operation.\r\nSteward, that knife—no, the next one—there, that’s it. He is coming to,\r\nI think”—feeling the top-man’s wrist. “Are you all ready, sir?”\r\n\r\nThis last observation was addressed to one of the Neversink’s assistant\r\nsurgeons, a tall, lank, cadaverous young man, arrayed in a sort of\r\nshroud of white canvas, pinned about his throat, and completely\r\nenveloping his person. He was seated on a match-tub—the skeleton\r\nswinging near his head—at the foot of the table, in readiness to grasp\r\nthe limb, as when a plank is being severed by a carpenter and his\r\napprentice.\r\n\r\n“The sponges, Steward,” said Cuticle, for the last time taking out his\r\nteeth, and drawing up his shirt sleeves still further. Then, taking the\r\npatient by the wrist, “Stand by, now, you mess-mates; keep hold of his\r\narms; pin him down. Steward, put your hand on the artery; I shall\r\ncommence as soon as his pulse begins to—_now, now!_” Letting fall the\r\nwrist, feeling the thigh carefully, and bowing over it an instant, he\r\ndrew the fatal knife unerringly across the flesh. As it first touched\r\nthe part, the row of surgeons simultaneously dropped their eyes to the\r\nwatches in their hands while the patient lay, with eyes horribly\r\ndistended, in a kind of waking trance. Not a breath was heard; but as\r\nthe quivering flesh parted in a long, lingering gash, a spring of blood\r\nwelled up between the living walls of the wounds, and two thick\r\nstreams, in opposite directions, coursed down the thigh. The sponges\r\nwere instantly dipped in the purple pool; every face present was\r\npinched to a point with suspense; the limb writhed; the man shrieked;\r\nhis mess-mates pinioned him; while round and round the leg went the\r\nunpitying cut.\r\n\r\n“The saw!” said Cuticle.\r\n\r\nInstantly it was in his hand.\r\n\r\nFull of the operation, he was about to apply it, when, looking up, and\r\nturning to the assistant surgeons, he said, “Would any of you young\r\ngentlemen like to apply the saw? A splendid subject!”\r\n\r\nSeveral volunteered; when, selecting one, Cuticle surrendered the\r\ninstrument to him, saying, “Don’t be hurried, now; be steady.”\r\n\r\nWhile the rest of the assistants looked upon their comrade with glances\r\nof envy, he went rather timidly to work; and Cuticle, who was earnestly\r\nregarding him, suddenly snatched the saw from his hand. “Away, butcher!\r\nyou disgrace the profession. Look at _me!_”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 5"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJTJS3AFC49VHXZ381X49","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J19NC56FFGBCM2SWEZZY","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AMH6FZANKQ6GAQKNQWWQK","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AMH6F06AS68QEASXFJZ4G","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:40.143Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:51.273Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}