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It was because of this tiny piece of information that Ford Prefect was not now a whiff of hydrogen, ozone and carbon monoxide.
He heard a slight groan. By the light of the match he saw a heavy shape moving slightly on the floor. Quickly he shook the match out, reached in his pocket, found what he was looking for and took it out. He crouched on the floor. The shape moved again.
Ford Prefect said: “I bought some peanuts.”
Arthur Dent moved, and groaned again, muttering incoherently.
“Here, have some,” urged Ford, shaking the packet again, “if you've never been through a matter transference beam before you've probably lost some salt and protein. The beer you had should have cushioned your system a bit.”
“Whhhrrrr…” said Arthur Dent. He opened his eyes.
“It's dark,” he said.
Since he had left Denmark the previous afternoon, he had been through types 33 (light pricking drizzle which made the roads slippery), 39 (heavy spotting), 47 to 51 (vertical light drizzle through to sharply slanting light to moderate drizzle freshening), 87 and 88 (two finely distinguished varieties of vertical torrential downpour), 100 (post-downpour squalling, cold), all the seastorm types between 192 and 213 at once, 123, 124, 126, 127 (mild and intermediate cold gusting, regular and syncopated cab-drumming), 11 (breezy droplets), and now his least favourite of all, 17.
“Yes,” said Ford Prefect, “it's dark.”
“No light,” said Arthur Dent. “Dark, no light.
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