Diary of a Drug Fiend

The Final Plunge 241 to see about a settlement I’m making in case I ever get married.” , And then, not half an hour afterwards, he referred to an incident of our life in Capri. I am careful not to contradict him or alarm him about the state of his mind, but it’s very difficult to know what to do. There are so many things I forget myself. “How did we get down here?’ Then again, “Where is Alice ?’’ The name keeps on popping up, and yet I don’t know any one at all intimately or importantly with that name. I had forgotten this diary—I found it by accident and immediately began to read it through to refresh my memory. Most of the handwriting is unreadable. I puzzled and puzzled before I could make out the words. And then when I got the words, they were so senseless. I can’t believe that all that happened to me. Some of it came back slowly; curiously, the unimportant things came first. I was amazed to find that Mabel Black was dead. I wrote her a letter only yesterday. Poor old girl ! The part, too, about Dr. McCall. I could swear quite honestly that never happened. And yet it must have; for I found scraps of the dress in the cushions of the blue Chesterfield chewed to a pulp. ... October 27 We have been shooting again; but it was cold and damp. We were neither of us interested and we were too weary to walk. Peter said nothing; but all the time I can feel how disgusted he is. We're so rottenly let down. This afternoon I picked up that article of Sieveking’s. He is talking about the sensation of walking after a flight. “One has an infinitely distressing sensation of being clamped down to the ground—manacled by the very grass-blades ! ”