East gave a little ghost of a smile, and his hand tightened and then went loose in mine – and I found I was blubbering and gasping, and thinking about Rugby, and hot murphies at Sally’s shop, and a small fag limping along pathetically after the players at Big Side – because he couldn’t play himself, you see, being lame. I’d hated the little bastard, too, man and boy, for his smug manly piety – but you don’t see a child you’ve known all your life die every day. Maybe that was why I wept, maybe it was the shock and horror of what had being happening. I don’t know. Whatever it was, I’m sure I felt it all the more sincerely for knowing that I was still alive myself, and no bones broken so far.
Flashman in the Great Game, p.233, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.
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