To conserve strength for the relatively difficult operation that night, they did not see too many patients that day. Once they had more or less met their quota, they announced that they were closed. The wooden figures were tactful enough; even though they had not taken in any patients for half the afternoon, none came over to cause trouble.
The remaining time was mostly spent determining Stark's condition. The good news was that, after examination and assessment, the bullet would not be too difficult to remove. The bad news was that Stark really was in poor shape.
He had intermittent fevers, and his temperature fluctuated wildly. Meanwhile, the wound in his abdomen had begun to inflame. Even though the bullet had been removed and the wound stitched up, the inflammation would not subside so quickly.
The rabbit stew had indeed replenished his strength, but the protein intake would also worsen the inflammation. Yet with their limited conditions, there was no better solution. They could only choose the lesser of two evils.
By dusk, Stark was somewhat delirious. His temperature had climbed to an unprecedented high, and physical cooling was no longer effective. Wanda mixed up a fever-reducing potion for him, but it only worked for a while after he drank it. Soon, his fever returned.
It was inadvisable to operate while his temperature was abnormal, so they could only keep waiting. It was not until the latter half of the night that Stark's temperature finally stabilized, evidently because the accumulated effects of the medicine had begun to take hold.
There was not much time left before dawn, so Strange could only cut quickly and gamble that the bullet was not far from his incision.
The moment he opened the incision, Strange felt a flicker of delight. Judging by the condition