“No wonder he was comfortable,” said Captain Jamie. “He didn’t feel anything. He’s paralysed.”
“Paralysed your grandmother,” sneered the Warden. “Get him up on his feat and you’ll see him stand.”
Hutchins and the doctor dragged me to my feet.
“Now let go!” the Warden commanded.
Not all at once could life return into the body that had been practically dead for ten days, and as a result, with no power as yet over my flesh, I gave at the knees, crumpled, pitched sidewise, and gashed my forehead against the wall.
“You see,” said Captain Jamie.
“Good acting,” retorted the Warden. “That man’s got nerve to do anything.”
“You’re right, Warden,” I whispered from the floor. “I did it on purpose. It was a stage fall. Lift me up again, and I’ll repeat it. I promise you lots of fun.”
I shall not dwell upon the agony of returning circulation. It was to become an old story with me, and it bore its share in cutting the lines in my face that I shall carry to the scaffold.
When they finally left me I lay for the rest of the day stupid and half-comatose. There is such a thing as anæsthesia of pain, engendered by pain too exquisite to be borne. And I have known that anæsthesia.