My first recollections were of endeavouring to see through a blood-red cloud that hid everything from my distorted vision.
The pains in my head and through my spine were excruciating, while my throat burned as though it had been skinned by molten lead poured down it. I tried to speak, but my tongue refused to move. I could articulate no sound.
I felt the presence of persons about me, people who moved and spoke softly as though in fear of awaking me. My eyes were, I believe, wide-open, and yet I could not see.
Some liquid was forced between my teeth by an unseen hand, and I drank it eagerly, for it was deliciously cold and refreshing.
Then I fell asleep again, and I believe I must have remained unconscious for a long time.
When at last I opened my eyes, I found myself in a narrow, hospital bed. A row of men in other beds were before me, and a nurse in uniform was approaching from the opposite side of the ward.
I turned my head, and saw that a rather plain-faced nurse was seated beside me, holding my hand, her finger, I believe, upon my pulse, while on the opposite side sat a bald-headed man in uniform—a police constable.
“Where am I?” I managed to ask the nurse.
“In St. George’s Hospital, and you may congratulate yourself that you’ve had a very narrow escape. Whatever made you do such a thing?”
“Do what?” I asked.