That he had actually succeeded in sparing Si'Wren life and limb from
punishment was beyond his wildest expectations, but now she must
forever remain in constant danger of forgetting herself and speaking
out of turn for the rest of her life. Had he really helped her, or only
prolonged her suffering, before the final, inescapable, damning
judgement? Why could he not have thought of a better alternative for
Si'Wren?
"Your pardon, great Physician," he said, boldly stepping forward.
"Aye, what is it?" the white-bearded old Healer asked with a wry and
good-natured impatience, scarcely bothering to look up from his work.
Many bystanders and well-wishers were already there, looking curiously
on at his work as they stood idly by in whispering attendance at every
hand.
"She has brought you the herbs you requested," said Habrunt.
"Good!" the Physician said, studying his patient critically. "Not a
moment too soon."
The Physician took advantage of Habrunt's momentary distraction to set
his mind afresh upon his work, for he was in a crucial part of the
operation, and the patient would never be so ready as he was at that
very moment.
Already in position, he reached in carefully, and clenched down, and
seemed to set himself, and with a nod to those helping him to hold
tightly onto the patient, he pulled hard with a pair of crude iron
pliers or tongs, and yanked out a stinking, rotten, bloody molar from
the jaw of the patient, whose gopher hole of a mouth emitted an
agonized outcry.
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