Why is the man in this story so tired? a. he has been working too hard. b. he has not slept well for months. c. he has not had any coffee yet. d. he has to work during the night. a man awakened in a third-story bedroom in a lodging-house in a poor street in london, and as his consciousness returned to him, its slow and reluctant movings confronted the second point of view—marked by enormous differences. he had not slept two consecutive hours through the night, and when he had slept he had been tormented by dreary dreams, which were more full of misery because of their elusive vagueness, which kept his tortured brain on a wearying strain of effort to reach some definite understanding of them. yet when he awakened, the consciousness of being again alive was an awful thing. if the dreams could have faded into blankness and all have passed with the passing of the night, how he could have whatever gods there be! only not to awake—only not to awake! but he had awakened. the clock struck nine as he did, so consequently, he knew the hour. the lodging-house servant had aroused him by coming to light the fire. she had set her candle on the hearth and done her work as stealthily as possible, but he had been disturbed, though he had made a desperate effort to struggle back into sleep. that was no use—no use. he was awake and he was in the midst of it all again. without the sense of luxurious comfort, he opened his eyes and turned upon his back, throwing out his arms flatly, so that he lay as in the form of a cross, in heavy weariness and anguish. for months he had awakened each morning after such a night and had so lain like a crucified thing.