Romeo plopped down, leaning back on his hands without too much regard for mussing Leto's bedclothes. Poor Leto. "Eighteen months -- I came in in the middle of my third year, as you did. But that would be tragic, wouldn't it? To make it past everything else, and then get driven round the bend by cutting myself on packing materials."

That had only happened once! (The cutting. Not the going crazy.)