“I don’t like that kind of talk, Jerry,” Lister went on staunchly. “And the talk isn’t the worst part of it, Jerry. The boys were real mad at you. Some of the things they talked about doing—well, they’re just sickening, Jerry. Just sickening, that’s all.”
Lister took the flashlight away for a moment. “Since we’re pals and everything, Jerry, I’ve been doing my best to talk the boys out of it. I said a little innocent horseplay was O.K. between friends, but roughstuff just don’t go. I said it was all right to do like this.”
Lister’s foot scraped against the floor as he bent forward across the bed. He drew his free hand back to the level of his shoulder and slapped Needham hard across the mouth, twenty times or more. Each slap made a sick crash in the silent room.
“That’s all right, Jerry,
