There was an untidy pile of flecked hundred-mille plaques in front of him. Le Chiffre was still playing and still, apparently, winning. He shifted himself unobtrusively away from the roulette he had been playing and went to stand for a moment at the brass rail which surrounded breast-high the top table in the salle priv‚e. This helped him to avoid staleness and the sensual bluntness that breeds mistakes.
He always knew when his body or his mind had had enough and he always acted on the knowledge. James Bond suddenly knew that he was tired. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling - a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension - becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it. The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.
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