The surgeon's a preachy bastard anyway. I was grateful for the physic, almost as much to miss his recount of the history of antiseptic as for deadening the pain. I was not so lucky as to miss his lecture on dueling, though, and had I been, he was kind enough to repeat it on each subsequent visit. He came again Wednesday, and then Friday, to be sure my arm had not gone and rotted off in the night or some such nonsense.
Shaun, for his part, is being exceedingly obliging. I expect I am driving him insane with my incurable ennui, though perhaps he deserves it. He insists on following every one of the surgeon's orders to the letter; I've barely been allowed up to piss much less to find any means of occupying myself.
He's out for a little bit now, at any rate. I sent him to take care of some business for me, since he refuses to see to his own affairs unless he can do it without going anywhere. So I'm stealing time sitting upright, writing with my wrong hand as best I can manage.
Not to say that I wouldn't have gone mad--sorry, madder--without his company.
But I may have to think up more errands if he plans to keep this up.