(no subject)

Viola does not remember the corridor being so long, or the stairs being quite so numerous. She also doesn't remember them seeming quite so wobbly, but that she can attribute to the not inconsiderable amount of whiskey consumed by her and Hal, to whose arm she is steadfastly clinging.

She has an inkling of why gentlemen get drunk on purpose-- there is something pleasant about the giddy, dizzy feeling, and she just keeps laughing-- but she also feels heavy and sleepy and a little bit sick, and she doesn't at all like the feeling that her mouth is running a few steps in front of her head, her body's responses lagging even behind that.

"Now 'tis near-- well-- 'tis nearly near..."