A pretty figure I should cut at Horncastle, mounted
on a horse blood-raw at the knees." "Oh, you are going to
Horncastle," said the old man, seriously, "then I can sympathize
with you in your anxiety about your horse, being a Lincolnshire
man, and the son of one who bred horses. I will myself go down
into the stable, and examine into the condition of your horse, so
pray remain quiet till I return; it would certainly be a terrible
thing to appear at Horncastle on a broken-kneed horse."
He left the room and returned in about ten minutes, followed by
another person. "Your horse is safe," said he, "and his knees are
unblemished; not a hair ruffled. He is a fine animal, and will do
credit to Horncastle; but here is the surgeon come to examine into
your own condition." The surgeon was a man about thirty-five,
thin, and rather tall; his face was long and pale, and his hair,
which was light, was carefully combed back as much as possible from
his forehead. He was dressed very neatly, and spoke in a very
precise tone. "Allow me to feel your pulse, friend?" said he,
taking me by the right wrist. I uttered a cry, for at the motion
which he caused a thrill of agony darted through my arm. "I hope
your arm is not broke, my friend," said the surgeon, "allow me to
see; first of all, we must divest you of this cumbrous frock.
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