*"(...) But it is already light. How long has it been light? All this while, light has come percolating in, along with the gold morning air flowing now across his nipples: it has begun to reveal an assortment of drunken wastrels (...) as London light, winter and elastic light grows between the faces of the mullioned windows, grows among the strata of last night's smoke still hung, fading, from the waxed beams of the ceiling. All these horizontal here, these comrades in arms, look just as rosy as a bunch of Dutch peasants dreaming of their certain resurrection in the next few minutes(...)"Pynchon, Th. - "Gravity's Rainbow"
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