and a dozen pellets had lodged themselves in his hind leg.
“What victory, comrade? Have we not driven the enemy off our soil—the sacred soil of Animal Farm?”
“But they have destroyed the windmill. And we had worked on it for two years!”
“What matter? We will build another windmill. We will build six windmills if we feel like it.
You do not appreciate, comrade, the mighty thing that we have done.
The enemy was in occupation of this very ground that we stand upon.
And now—thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon—we have won every inch of it back again!”
“Then we have won back what we had before,” said Boxer. “That is our victory,” said Squealer.
They limped into the yard. The pellets under the skin of Boxer's leg smarted painfully.
He saw ahead of him the heavy labour of rebuilding the windmill from the foundations, and already in imagination he braced himself for the task.
But for the first time it occurred to him that he was eleven years old and that perhaps his great muscles were not quite what they had once been.
But when the animals saw the green flag flying, and heard the gun firing again—seven times it was fired in all—
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