It takes a moment for the pain to start in earnest, to really register, and all of a sudden, it's there in a rush, white hot and burning, a lemon-dill-bleach-vomit taste in his mouth. So he does the only thing he can do: he cries out. He's laying there, stretched out like Christ on the cross--forgive me Father, for I have sinned, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault--and he can't keep silent in the fact of that sort of pain. The cries turn into something resembling words, and a moment later, he remembers English, too. "It's already gone!"