“But it was no good. He was awake. After a few moments of tight-eyed pretence, he let them open again. He supposed he should be grateful that he slept as well as he did. A lot of his contemporaries complained of long watches through the night and assumed sleeping pills to be a regular part of their diet for the rest of their days. Charles felt a perverse righteousness from the fact that he hardly ever took sleeping pills. Such a solitary activity. His own solution to the sleep problem, alcohol, ...was at least taken socially. Usually. Taking sleeping pills was never social. Except in the case of a suicide pact. And that was hardly convivial. Of course alcohol had its disadvantages, but it was so long since he hadn’t woken up with a furred tongue and tender head that he hardly noticed them. He looked round his bedsitter, trying to delay thinking about things he didn’t want to think about. The room had changed little during the seventeen years of his occupancy. He had moved into Hereford Road within a year of walking out on Frances and, except for periods of working out of town or the occasional good fortune of finding a lady willing to share her bed, he had been there ever since.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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