'This might tickle a bit,' Frank told me, running his fingers up and down the bottom of my arm. I felt him stab me with summat small and very sharp. Then a tiny thread of ice snaked up the inside of my arm. I felt like I'd been hit again, punched in the face. No, it were the opposite of that, like someon'd took the punch right back, and all the other hits and scratches ever, and gave me back all the wellness I'd had before but times three hundred and twenty-four. My leg and chest stopped hurting. I didn't care about getting hit, or about losing the packets and what Frank might think about it.