“Yeah, why tell the public the truth? ” said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must not tell lies.
There's just something about clenching most of the basic food groups in your fist and then horking them down like a snake smuggling dinner through airport security.
The memory retrieving part of our minds is like an eye, that clenches shut in the presence of a flash and closes down when asked to archive and then recover incidents of intense fury or terror, ridicule or shame.