Under the pressure of this verbal onslaught, Philip Merriwether's mind reeled. He pressed his palms to his temples and fainted dead away.
When he came to, there were several passers-by crowded around him. One of them was kneeling by his side, taking his pulse.
"Ha—Wha—what happened?" he asked, unoriginally enough.
"You fainted," said the man who was taking his pulse. "Just lie still; it's all right. I'm a physician."
"Fainting," said Phil, "is normally a mild form of shock in which the blood vessels of the abdomen become distended and engorged with blood, thus reducing the blood pressure and temporarily depriving the brain of its normal oxygen supply, which causes momentary loss of consciousness."
The doctor blinked. "What? Oh. Yes. That's quite correct, sir. Do you have these attacks often."
Phil's mouth had remained open after his last word. After a minute, he gulped. "Did I say that?"
"What?" the doctor asked for a second time. "Do you feel all right?"
Phil Merriwether stood up hastily. "My head feels a little funny, but I think I'm all right."