“I think you’d better not touch me.” He was determined to keep control. There would be just the next five minutes and the continual touch of the scissors, and then it would be over, he would be all right. He started toward the chair, his feet slick in the water, and behind him Shingleton said, “Good God, where did you get all the scars on your back?” “In the war.” That was a weakness. He should not have answered. “Oh sure. Sure you did. In which army?” Rambo almost killed him right then.
