" REMEMBER WATAHANTOWET?” he asked me. “I remember,” I said. Then he smiled at the “penguin” who was trying to make him comfortable in her lap; her wimple was covered with his blood, and she had wrapped as much of her habit around him as she could manage—because he was shivering. “‘… WHOSOEVER LIVETH AND BELIEVETH IN ME SHALL NEVER DIE,’” Owen said to her. The nun nodded in agreement; she made the sign of the cross over him. Then Owen smiled at Major Rawls. “PLEASE SEE TO IT THAT I GET SOME KIND OF MEDAL FOR THIS,” he asked the major, who bowed his head—and cranked his tourniquet tighter. There was only the briefest moment, when Owen looked stricken—something deeper and darker than pain crossed over his face, and he said to the nun who held him: “I’M AWFULLY COLD, SISTER—CAN’T YOU DO SOMETHING?” Then whatever had troubled him passed over him completely, and he smiled again—he looked at us all with his old, infuriating smile. Then he looked only at me. “YOU’RE GETTING "

― John Irving , A Prayer for Owen Meany