It hurt us to breathe.
Inside a small barrack room whose remarkable cleanliness derived from its inhabitants' sweeping, scrubbing, and mopping three times a day, six of us lay down on worn mattresses of wool, with thin cotton sheets to cover us. Yellowish lamplight outside passed through the room's square windows without curtains, mixing with its darkness and recasting our surroundings in grisaille hues.
- From The Monastery of the Damned: From the Ivy League to the French Foreign Legion by Nicholas Tobias
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