Where was I? What had happened to make me feel so
helpless? It reminded me of an episode of my childhood, a day when my
pony had fallen and rolled upon me, and I had been carried home with two
crushed ribs and a broken arm.
Coming out at that time from the influence of the ether, I had found
Dunny at my bedside. If only he were here now! I looked round. Why,
there he was, sitting in a brocaded chair by the window, his dear old
silver head thrown back, dozing beyond a doubt.
To see him gave me a warm, comforted, homelike feeling. Nor did it
surprise me, but my surroundings did. The room, a veritable Louis Quinze
jewel in its paneling, carving, and gilding, might have come direct
from Versailles by parcel post; my bed was garlanded and curtained in
rose-color. Where I had gone to sleep last night I couldn't remember;
but it hadn't, I was obstinately sure, been here.
What ailed me, anyhow? I began a series of cautious experiments,
designed to discover the trouble. My arms were weak and of a strange,
flabby limpness, but they moved. So did my left leg; but when I came to
the right one I was baffled.
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