British Accent - Storyteller
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Chapter one 17 94. For as long as I can remember, I have had a nervous tic if letters along the lower eyelid for a few seconds. But if I am tired, I begin to blink. I have often wondered about the cause of the twitch. In fact, if I had to pick a reason when my interest in medicine first began, it was that I remember consulting a physician. He was a kindly old man, But when he said the cause was most likely due to damp air, I decided on a second opinion. A younger physician suggested the cause was weak nerves or possibly a malady of the spleen. He recommended long and vigorous walks, a die free from partridge and quail and two glasses of port wine before retiring to bed. It was no successful. I mention this as an aside because my storey really only begins when my life ended. Looking back, I see it as a memory, a moment, prophecy or premonition of sorts. I died after a fashion in the winter of 17 94. Before then, and for some time afterwards, I was a physician. I was not famous. I had no special accomplishments, but I did have a thriving practise. In short, I lived a comfortable, mundane and predictable existence. And, yes, my affliction was still present in what I now think of as my living existence. Only two memorable events stood out. The first was when Mrs Grey Stand Be undoubtedly my wealthiest and most influential patient sent for me one summer's evening. This happened frequently, irrespective of the time of day or night. To Mrs Dambe, the most minor incident was a tragedy that required my personal and most urgent attention. It could be disruptive and frustrating, of course, but the importance I attached to Mrs Dambe could not be underestimated. It was her patronage and go words that persuaded many of her friends and associates to come. My way to lose her approval would be to lose everything quickly. For this reason alone, I owed her a special kind of indulgence. That night she had dispatched a servant girl to summon me. The child arrived on my doorstep with a bulging ID and breathless message, asking me to hurry. I obliged