The light was at his back, leaving his face in the shadow, but shone squarely on the sleeper's head.
"I do not envy his headache when he wakes up," thought Maurice.

He had detected the vinous odor of the sleeper's breath.

"These headaches, while they last, are bad things.

I know; I've had 'em.

I wonder," lifting the stein and draining it, "who the duffer was who said that getting drunk was fun?
His name has slipped my memory; no matter." He set down the stein and banged the lid.
The sleeper stirred.