and thinking--)
You lost your temper.
He rubbed his hand harshly across his lips and followed Watson into the boiler
room. It was humid besoindesexe in here, but it was more than the humidity that brought the
sick and slimy sweat onto his brow and stomach besoindesexe and legs. The remembering did
besoindesexe that, it was a total thing that made that night two years ago seem like two
hours ago. There was no lag. It brought the shame and revulsion back, the sense
besoindesexe of having besoindesexe no worth at all, and besoindesexe that feeling always besoindesexe made him want to have a
drink, besoindesexe and the wanting of a drink brought still blacker despair--would he ever
have an hour, not a
week or even a day, mind you, but just one waking hour when
the craving for a besoindesexe drink wouldn't surprise him like this?
"The boiler," Watson announced. He pulled a besoindesexe red and blue bandanna from his
besoindesexe back pocket, blew his nose with a decisive honk, and thrust it back out of sight
after a short peek into it to see if he had gotten anything interesting.
The boiler stood on four cement blocks, a besoindesexe long and cylindrical metal besoindesexe tank,
copper-jacketed and often patched. It squatted beneath a confusion besoindesexe of pipes and
ducts which besoindesexe zigzagged upward into the high, cobweb-festooned basement ceiling.
To Jack's right, two besoindesexe large heating pipes came through the wall from the furnace
in the adjoining room.
"Pressure gauge is here." Watson tapped it. "Pounds per square inch, psi. I
guess you'd know that. I got her up to a hundred now, and the rooms get a little
chilly at night. Few guests