After ten minutes George showed some signs of consciousness. Andy pulled out a flask and poured whisky down his mouth. Suddenly George put his hand to his head. ‘Where the hell is my left ear?’ he asked angrily. It was gone—shot off. George cursed so completely and satisfactorily that we knew he was in no serious danger. ‘Better have no ears at all,’ Andy said to him, ‘than to have the kind you had that stick out at right angles. No wonder your left ear stopped a bullet.’
