When this old body I'm wearing
now was writing that book on the French Revolution, I was in Paris,
watching it happen, from the fall of the Bastile to the Ninth
Thermidor. I was in Basra, and saw that crazed tool of the Axis shoot
down Khalid ib'n Hussein--and the professor talked about it a month
before it happened. I have seen empires rise and stretch from star to
star across the Galaxy, and crumble and fall. I have seen...."
Doctor Hauserman had gotten his pen out of his pocket and was signing
the commitment form with one hand; with the other, he pressed a button
on the desk. A door at the rear opened, and a large young man in a
white jacket entered.
"You'll have to go away for a while, Professor," Hauserman was telling
him, much later, after he had allowed himself to become calm again.
"For how long, I don't know. Maybe a year or so."
"You mean to Northern State Mental?"
"Well.... Yes, Professor. You've had a bad crack-up. I don't suppose
you realize how bad. You've been working too hard; harder than your
nervous system could stand. It's been too much for you."
"You mean, I'm nuts?"
"Please, Professor. I deplore that sort of terminology. You've had a
severe psychological breakdown.
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