Storm

He saw the alarm clock over there, ticking on the chest of drawers. “Good God!” he thought. It was half past six, and the hands were going quietly on. It was past the half hour, almost quarter to seven. Shouldn’t the alarm have sounded? One could see from the bed that it had been properly set for four o’clock. Certainly it had rung. And was it even possible for one to sleep quietly through the noise that made even the furniture shake? Now, he certainly hadn’t had a peaceful sleep, but apparently it was deep nonetheless. But what should he do now? The next train left at seven o’clock. To catch that one, he would have to make a mad dash; his assortment of wares wasn’t packed up yet, and he really didn’t feel particularly fresh and active. And even if he caught the train, there was no way to avoid those storm clouds brewing over the boss’ head, because the firm’s errand boy would’ve waited for the five o’clock train and reported the news of his absence long ago. 

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