24, full stop.

A weakling struggles in his gigantic little garments, execrates, makes threats, sobs. The world laughs hysterically. In the tenth row there's another one, just as small and weak; he watches the scene with a ball in his throat and a tear in his eye. He remains silent. For a short while he wants to scream his way through the cackle but he sinks before anyone has noticed anything. (The earth will spit him out with abomination later on, together with the scum.) Again and again, every day, in every village and in every town. ''Only the gentle are ever really strong'', said James Dean and died.