He moved irritably among his cushions, trying to arrange them more
comfortably. This _infernal_ pain! It was to be hoped Nixon would be
able to do more for it than that ass, the Dunscombe doctor. Marsham
thought, with resentment, of all his futile drugs and expedients.
According to the Dunscombe man, the stone had done no vital injury, but
had badly bruised one of the lower vertebrae, and jarred the nerves of
the spine generally. Local rest, various applications, and
nerve--soothing drugs--all these had been freely used, and with no
result. The pain had been steadily growing worse, and in the last
twenty-four hours certain symptoms had appeared, which, when he first
noticed them, had roused in Marsham a gust of secret terror; and Nixon,
a famous specialist in nerve and spinal disease, had been summoned
forthwith.
To distract his thoughts, Marsham took up the paper again.
What was wrong with the light? He looked at the clock, and read it with
some difficulty. Close on four only, and the September sun was shining
brightly outside. It was his eyes, he supposed, that were not quite
normal Very likely. A nervous shock must, of course, show itself in a
variety of ways.
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