Serrin finally woke up at ten that night, after nearly sixteen hours’ sleep from which an earthquake wouldn’t have roused him. He felt ghastly. His bad leg throbbed like a jackhammer and his head seemed to be throbbing in time with it. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then began to cough long and hard, spitting into a handkerchief. One day, he thought, I really am going to give those damned things up.