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We literally waded through the hundreds of patients to get to our work station in the Casualty Ward. In America we call it the Emergency Room. There were people standing in line, who had been there for several hours. Some were bandaged with crusted blood on their faces, clothing and dressings. Many of them had tattered and ragged clothing. The smell of some old wounds filled the air and added to the aura of despair. Some leaned against the walls, others lay in stretchers, or clustered together on crowded benches. This mass of men, women and children were coughing, gagging, grimacing, but no one was crying. Crying aloud is not part of this culture.