And needs a fainting couch.

I don’t recall where I picked up ‘neurasthenic’ — doubtless a Victorian novel of some description, since it wasn’t one of the many ways I died playing Oregon Trail. Typhoid, cholera, lack of a spare axle, yes; neurasthenia, nope.

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This entry was posted on November 12, 2014 by naralesser and tagged anachronisms, owls, paronomasiacs.

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