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A chubby vole sat as guardian between the two sections, making sure the hoi polloi didn’t get any ideas above their station. His name was Harold, and the most important thing he had learned in his life, as far as he was concerned, was that it was entirely possible to sleep with one’s eyes open, or at least open enough to deceive passersby, if one was willing to put in a bit of practice. True, it wasn’t as good as a full-on nap, but any degree of slumber was better than waking. As far as Harold was concerned, the biter part of existence lay in those little moments of oblivion that preceded the last.
