, and poison the man, just as happens in an
animal whose skin the physiologist has varnished, so as in this way to
destroy its function. Yet here was I, having lost at least a third of my
skin, and apparently none the worse for it.

Still more remarkable, however, were the psychical changes which I
now began to perceive. I found to my horror that at times I was less
conscious of myself, of my own existence, than used to be the case. This
sensation was so novel that at first it quite bewildered me. I felt like
asking some one constantly if I were really George Dedlow or not; but,
well aware how absurd I should seem after such a question, I refrained
from speaking of my case, and strove more keenly to analyze my feelings.
At times the conviction of my want of being myself was overwhelming and
most painful. It was, as well as I can describe it, a deficiency in the
egoistic sentiment of individuality. About one half of the sensitive
surface of my skin was gone, and thus much of relation to the outer
world destroyed. As a consequence, a large part of the receptive central
organs must be out of employ, and, like other idle things, degenerating
rapidly. Moreover, all the great central ganglia, which give rise to
movements in the limbs, were also eternally at rest. Thus one half of me
was absent or functionally dead. This set me to thinking how much a man
might lose and yet live. If I were unhappy enough to survive, I might
part with my spleen at least, as many a dog has done, and grown fat
afterwards. The other organs with which we breathe and circulate the
blood would be essential; so also would the liver; but at least half of
the intestines might be dispensed with, and of course all of the limbs.
And as to the nervous system, the only parts really necessary to life
are a few small ganglia. Were the rest absent or inactive, we should
have a man reduced, as it were, to the lowest terms, and leading an
almost vegetative existence. Would such a being, I asked myself, possess
the sense of individuality in its usual completeness, even if his organs
of sensation remained, and he were capable of consciousness? Of course,
without them, he could not have it any more than a dahlia or a tulip.
But with them--how then? I concluded that it would be at a minimum,
and that, if utter loss of relation to the outer world were capable of
destroying a man's consciousness of himself, the destruction of half
of his sensitive surfaces might well occ