"He's a nice looking horse, isn't he?", she asked.I replied that he was, and that I was getting to like horseback riding even though my parents had no... given me much choice. She replied that she felt the same way. "I wish he was mine", she said. "Why do you say that", I replied, wondering why she didn't feel the same way about her horse. A gleam came into in her eye as she told me that it was because my horse "was so well hung"! I didn't know what to say! Talk about embarassment!I stammered. To the right stretched a row of single story huts each with their own semi-circular roof windows that James assumed lit cells like his own. To the left a high fence and barricade of razor wire separated the huts from an open grassed area. Beyond this were rows of seating and white painted pavilions. At the far end, a high, oval, glass fronted building stared down like an enormous, single, eye. Behind its glass, James could make out white shirted camp staff moving backwards and forward.. More

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