Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. \"Shouldn't you be in bed? You go into work at 5:30, I thought. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. In fact, Mr. Um. Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you.
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