Dear Mr. Fraser, I write to inform you that I shall not…

““Dear Mr. Fraser, I write to inform you that I shall not visit Helwater this quarter; official affairs detain me. […] These affairs concern an inquiry into the explosion of a cannon in Germany, June last. I was summoned before an official Commission of Inquiry, which… He wrote steadily, pausing now and then to compose a sentence, and found that the exercise did seem to bring his seething thoughts to earth. He wrote of the commission, Marchmont, Twelvetrees, and Oswald, Edgar and his consortium, Jones, Gormley, the corpse of Tom Pilchard… […] It is a brutal occupation, he wrote, and God help me, if I am no hero, I am damned good at it. You understand, I think, for I know you are the same. […] God help me further, he wrote, more slowly. I am afraid. […] I am afraid of everything. Afraid of what I may have done, unknowing—of what I might do. I am afraid of death, of mutilation, incapacity—but any soldier fears these things, and fights regardless. I have done it, and— He wished to write firmly, and will do it again. Instead, the words formed beneath his quill as they formed in his mind; he could not help but write them. I am afraid that I might find myself unable. Not only unable to fight, but to command.””

— Diana Gabaldon