Sentence The Fivehundredandsixtyeighth

Next morning, feeling frowzy and rather sluttish, Jessie forced herself to wash the stemware from the previous night, thinking it best to be politic and say nothing which might upset her husband, though the thought did enter her head that her question, if put carefully and obliquely, might elicit an answer; but she pushed that aside, thinking that she must surely be mistaken, it must have been the drink, her own muddle-headed confusion, though she was sure of the words Hamish had muttered in his sleep: "Nein, nein, Adolf, ich habe dich nicht verlassen, Heil Hitler!" and then he had rolled over and sunk back into a rhythmic snoring; she took a swig of gin, straight from the bottle – this wasn't a time for niceties and lit one of his cigarettes (she had been secretly swiping the odd one or two while he slept and had built up a sizeable cache – he had never approved of women smoking, though it didn't stop him smoking in her company) blowing a perfect circle towards the ceiling rose, and decided: she would have to speak to someone, she needed advice and there was only one person she could turn to!