They were obviously in a hurry. "Lie on here," whispered a nurse. They all whispered, perhaps because silence was commanded from the wall by green letters let in mong its white tiles. She swabbed the inside of each forearm at the point where it bends at the elbow. "Nice veins," she said, dabbing them. Her face, but for the clear healthy eyes and stretch of placid forehead, was tightly mask around. "We're operating," she sai There were somebody's dentures in the bowl of a wash basin. They looked forlorn, a little pathetic, The hum of a sterilizer came from the next room. Beyond that, presumably, was an inner theatre to which this was merely an annexe, a place only for the preliminaries of the craft and mystery. When both arms had been swabbed and bound there was one's name to write in a book. "And age," said the nurse. That done, she opened the inner door. The hum of the sterilizer, now visible as a shining drum, rose a tone as she did so. Next to it a short man with a roll of fat at the back of his neck was scrubbing his hands, steam rising from the taps which he turned off and on by quick blows from his elbows upon their long handles. "All ready, Mr. Sillitoe," said the nurse.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.