They will get him; take everything he has.
There must be something on that man that will help us."
Several performers had done their turns, and the supply of the
drug seemed to have been exhausted. Brodie rose and, with a nod to
Loraine, went out, unsteadily, now that the effect of the cocaine
had worn off. One wondered how this shuffling person could ever
have carried through the wild dance. It was not Brodie who danced.
It was the drug.
The dip slipped out after him, followed by the woman. We rose and
followed also. Across the city Brodie slouched his way, with an
evident purpose, it seemed, of replenishing his supply and
continuing his round of peddling the stuff.
He stopped under the brow of a thickly populated tenement row on
the upper East Side, as though this was his destination. There he
stood at the gate that led down to a cellar, looking up and down
as if wondering whether he was observed. We had slunk into a
doorway.
A woman coming down the street, swinging a chatelaine, walked
close to him, spoke, and for a moment they talked.
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