no: he was sick really. He was not foxing. And he felt the prefect's
hand on his forehead; and he felt his forehead warm and damp against
the prefect's cold damp hand. That was the way a rat felt, slimy and
damp and cold. Every rat had two eyes to look out of. Sleek slimy
coats, little little feet tucked up to jump, black slimy eyes to look
out of. They could understand how to jump. But the minds of rats could
not understand trigonometry. When they were dead they lay on their
sides. Their coats dried then. They were only dead things.

The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was saying that
he was to get up, that Father Minister had said he was to get up and
dress and go to the infirmary. And while he was dressing himself as
quickly as he could the prefect said:

--We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have the
collywobbles!

He was very decent to say that. That was all to make him laugh. But he
could not laugh because his cheeks and lips were all shivery: and then
the prefect had to laugh by himself.

The prefect cried:

--Quick march! Hayfoot! Strawfoot!

They went together down the staircase and along the corridor and past
the bath. As he passed the door he remembered with a vague fear the
warm turf-coloured bogwater, the warm moist air, the noise of plunges,
the smell of the towels, like medicine.