He poured a drink down his throat with the plan that it would head the previous one off at the pass, join forces with it, and together they would get the second to pull itself together. Then all three would go off in search of the first, give it a good talking to.
He felt uncertain as to whether the fourth drink had understood all that so he went down a fifth to explain the plan more fully and a sixth for moral support.
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The regular early morning yell of horror was the sound of Arthur
Dent waking up and suddenly remembering where he was.
It wasn’t just that the cave was cold, it wasn’t just that it was
damp and smelly. It was the fact that the cave was in the middle
of Islington and there wasn’t a bus due for two million years.
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