The man poured himself another glass full of the Firewhisky and took both the bottle and the glass over to the chair by the roaring fire. His lithe, tall figure dropped wearily into the overstuffed chair, and he sat there, staring into the flames which made his black eyes glow like coal.
Tilting his head back, the man drained the second glass, then looked from the glass to the bottle. Anyone could see that he would love nothing more than to drink himself into a stupor. The man looked at a picture of a wizened old wizard which hung on the wall, filled his glass once more, and raised it in silent salute to the man in the picture. The room was deathly quiet for a few moments with only the crackling of the fire and the man's labored breathing to break the monotony.
A few minutes later, however, the silence was shattered by the sound of a glass exploding as it struck the wall, and then the tortured scream which emanated from the figure by the fireplace.