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'Even in the dark, Peter knew he lay in the infirmary. No other room in the school was half so quiet. He could feel the familiar band of stiff, white linen, tight across his chest. All the boys had been there at some time or other in the past, at least for a few minutes - one long procession of bleeding knees, elbows and toes over summer, stepping up to be daubed with blood red mercurochrome. Peter hated the angry look of the stuff, more than the sting of the smell - there was a kind of violence in the colour, The boys all looked like branded sheep, coming out into the sun, blinking, lost lambs looking for their mothers.' (Introduction0
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