2: Quayle—Cordover—O'Mara
MRS. SELBY—buxom, grey-haired, fifty-five years of age—pushed open the door of Sammy Cordover's bedroom. She stood in the doorway looking at him.
The picture was without beauty. He lay, one leg outside the bedclothes, his head stretched back on the pillow, his mouth wide open, snoring. The noise, Mrs. Selby thought, was rather like that of a buzz-saw.
She shook him by the shoulder. She said: "It's past ten o'clock, Mr. Cordover. Do you want your breakfast now?"
Cordover opened his eyes. He regarded her balefully. She thought he looked very tired. She thought it was a great shame that such a weedy-looking person as Sammy should be forced to drive heavy trucks about the countryside all night. The Ministry of Supply must be hard up for drivers if they had to use
