She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. She brought the unconscious man down. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. Smith's melody had subsided. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. I hate what I am.
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