In the school hospital, a female surgeon was disinfecting and bandaging Vermes's wounds, while warning in a serious tone, "Garvin, thank goodness the broken glass didn't sever your arteries, otherwise, the consequences would be unthinkable."
"Doctor, will there be a scar on his right cheek?"
Yolanda Bardot watched as the surgeon worked on Garvin's right cheek, the raw, bloody wound being stitched. Vermes's perfectly arched eyebrows were knitted in a grimace.
He was obviously in a lot of pain.
She felt as if her heart bled with him, as if the pain was her own.
"I'll do my best to prevent any scarring. Such a perfect face as Garvin's should not be marred by scars. It's too heartbreaking," replied the doctor solemnly.
The female surgeon was in her thirties and had always had a fondness for handsome young men. She asked with concern, "Garvin, how could you be so careless? You're covered in broken glass. You're very lucky, the injuries could have been much worse."
