Diary of a Drug Fiend

Below the Brutes 199 was delicious to deceive that brute after he’d struck me. It was keen pleasure to see him in such pain; to imitate his symptoms with minute mimicry ; to mock at his misery. He was angry all the same, but his blows gave me infinite pleasure. They were the symbols of my triumph. “Here, you get out of this,” he said, ‘and don’t come back without it. I know where you can get it. Andrew McCall is the man’s name. I know him to the bottom of his rotten soul.” He gave me the address. It was a magnificent house near Sloane Square. He had married a rich old woman, and lived on the fat of the land. I had met him once myself in society. He was a self-made Scot, and thought evening dress de nigeur in Paradise. Peter sent me off with a sly snigger. There was some insane idea at the back of his mind. Well, what did I care? ... Dr. McCall was a man of fifty or so, very well pre- served and very well dressed, with a gardenia in his buttonhole. He recognised me at once, and drew me by the hand into a comfortable arm-chair. He began to chatter about our previous meeting; about the duchess of this and the countess of that. I wasn’t listening, I was watching. His tact told him that I wasn't interested. He stopped abruptly. “Well, well, excuse me for running on like this about old times. The point is, what can I do for you to-day, Miss Laleham ? ” I instantly saw my advantage. I shook my head laughingly. “Oh, no,” I said, “it’s not Miss Laleham.” He begged my pardon profusely for the mistake. ‘Can it be possible?) Two such beautiful girls so much alike ? ” “No,” I smiled back, ‘it’s not as bad as that. I D.D.F. e)