ocr: Five in the morning is the most horrible time, particularly when your body is still desperately trying to disentangle itself from half a bottle of whisky. We dragged ourselves, cold, crabby and - aching, from our bunks. The noise of sub-machine-gun fire from the main room turned out tobe frying bacon, and we tried to revive ourselves with this while the grey morning light began to seep hideously up into the sky outside.
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