Against all the odds of alcohol and exhaustion, and the too-few hours the night’s events had left him, he became fully aware of all the co-ordinates of his mind and body long before the tiny bell mechanism had exhausted itself beneath the folds of his shirt, with which he had deliberately muted it. He had to get up and get on with the job. Thinking about Steffy— knowing just so much, and nothing at all—only brought back the sour taste of nightmares which he shouldn’t remember, like the taste of last night’s alcohol. He fumbled for his torch under the camp-bed; found the torch, and found the matches on the table beside him; put down the torch and struck a match to light the candle Audley had left for him—the flaring match and the sputtering candle-flame illuminated the tower room around him, sending thousands of shadows everywhere creeping into their holes, in the great rack of bottles—the bottles winking and blinking at him.
