the rule mine had blown eight days ago , and when peter was n't screaming or raving like a crazy person because of the bells , those damn bells in his head , those bong-bong-bongs ... when he was n't doing that , peter was either awake and dreaming awful nightmares that clung like burrs-water and a dark fan of sea grass and the boat and eyes in stone-or he was awake and not dreaming but thinking , hard , the thoughts bubbling in the pressure cooker of his skull : get out of here , peter , get out , get out , got to get out !