Now his nostrils were filled with rain and bog water and a sodden world.

It smelt sour, like stale beer in a mouldy cellar.

And cold! He crushed down his hat on his head and precipitated a new deluge.
A bird skirled again in his ear, and his fright returned.

He felt small and alone in a vast inhospitable universe.

And mingled with it all was self-pity, for drink had made him maudlin.