The technical sciences of Chemistry and Physics made no strong appeal to Edwin. They seemed to him matters of empirical knowledge that must be acquired according to schedule but would have very little connection with the work of his profession, and he found them too near to the desperate subject of mathematics to be congenial. He could find nothing romantic or human in them; and this fact, in itself, is a sufficient indictment of the way in which they were taught. Anatomy was another matter altogether. He had anticipated the beginning of this study with a feeling in which awe and an instinctive distaste were mingled. From the first day he had known that somewhere up at the top of the building lay the dissecting room, a place that his fancy painted as a kind of Chamber of Horrors. On his way to the theatre, in which the Dean lectured on Anatomy with a scholarly refinement of phrase that transcended the natural elegance of Martin and a fascinating collection of coloured chalks, he had passed the gloomy door and seen a blackboard on which the names of the Prosectors were recorded in white lettering. But he preferred not to look inside. Martin, to whom all adventures came more easily, settled the point for him. “I say,” he said immediately after the lecture, “have you put yourself down for a part?” “A part? What do you mean?” “Anatomy. Dissecting, They’re shared between two, you know. In the first term we’re supposed to do an Upper or a Lower. Suppose we go shares in one—” “All right,” said Edwin. “Which shall it be?” “Well, I think an Upper will be better. There’s less fat and mess about it. We’d better go and choose one now.” “All right.”