Enrico gave Mr. Smith more oxygen until they were both satisfied that his pulse rate was not life-threatening.The bridge of the nose had a scar; his nose must have been broken at one time. Manuel broke it again and began reshaping and cutting around the nostrils. He was tired; it had been concentrated work and Enrico kept wiping his brow with an iced cloth."Only eyelids to go now," he murmured.The two men worked well together, Manuel checking his drawings and the ink markings he had made to Mr. Smith's face. He didn't want to take too much from the eyelids, and as he was doing both top and bottom, it was imperative he took only his exact measurements. He couldn't remove the age lines from around the eyes completely, nor the two lines from the nostrils down to the lips, known as puppet lines. These he injected with Botox and collagen, and then at last it was down to the bandages. Mr. Smith did not regain consciousness until his head was tightly bandaged. He resembled something out of an old-fashioned horror movie. Only his puffy, bloodshot eyes and his swollen lips could be seen. He could not dress himself, as his hands had been operated on and laser treatment carried out on his fingertips. Enrico had to ease him into an old wheelchair to take him out into the reception. Mr. Smith was hardly holding it together due to the waves of pain that swept over his entire body. There seemed not an inch of him that didn't scream out. He said hardly a word as Enrico wheeled him out into the early evening sun; he had been in surgery for over ten hours. A white, four-door Mercedes with tinted windows was parked outside. The driver had been waiting all day; his face was sweaty and his cheap black suit wrinkled and creased. His dark greasy hair was combed back and hung in a wave at his collar.