“It was just after half-past five, and he felt weary still. He hadn’t slept well. He had added some dry kindling to the dying remains of yesterday’s fire in the Rayburn’s firebox, seen it crackle and blaze up nicely, pushed some chunkier bits on top, filled the kettle, and set it on the hottest place of the stove’s hot plate. He turned his back on it and leaned against the dishtowel rail on the front of the stove, glad of the warmth as he listened to the water begin to stir. He leaned forward an...d reached for his tobacco tin on the kitchen table, and he rolled a cigarette as he waited for the kettle to heat up. The radio muttered quietly in its corner. He fumbled in his pocket for matches, and lit the cigarette. He looked at the end of it glowing ruby in the cold, uncertain light of the morning; and he thought it beautiful, that small red glow. After awhile, as he heard the first sounds of the water heating increase to something more determined, he pushed away from his resting place.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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