The old unrest was drowsy.

I might as well rot and die here in Oakland as anywhere else.

And I should have so rotted and died, and not in very long order either, at the pace John Barleycorn was leading me, had the matter depended wholly on him.

I was learning what it was to have no appetite.

I was learning what it was to get up shaky in the morning, with a stomach that quivered, with fingers touched with palsy, and to know the drinker's need for a stiff glass of whisky neat in order to brace up.