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Show Flying - 205 Madness, t h a t ' s the way out. I could have attacked poor Lieutenant Wilberforce, knocked him down, knelt on his chest and t r i e d to strangle him. They would have pulled me away, undamped my fingers from his throat, and sent me to the psychiatrist. And then either the stockade or the gate out to freedom. Better yet, I could leap at General Jack Freneau during tomorrow's inspection, kick his broken leg out fron under him and close ny fingers around his scrawny neck. An act of such incredible and motiveless evil they would have to certify my insanity. No mere lieutenant t h i s , but a three-star general, commander of armies, leader of thousands, a venerable and a holy nan, and crippled besides, with his leg in a cast. A man I never met. Who never did ne no wrong. Hand to hand conbat on the long California grass in the brisk wind of early morning, with an entire horror-struck battalion looking on. But I must rave and rant and if I can arrange i t foam at the mouth a l i t t l e . There must be no trace of r a t i o n a l i t y , no h i n t of the reasoning mind. Bestial John Henry. He was like a mad dog, Freneau will say, fingering the bruises on his throat. I barely escaped with ny l i f e . He growled once and leaped out of the ranks at ne. I am told the suicide of a friend may have unbalanced hin. He nust have been quite unhinged. There was no reason for him to |