From a quivering wretch she had become now a self-
confident neurasthenic.
"You know where that stuff will land you, I presume?" questioned
Kennedy.
"I don't care," she laughed hollowly. "Yes, I know what you are
going to tell me. Soon I'll be hunting for the cocaine bug, as
they call it, imagining that in my skin, under the flesh, are
worms crawling, perhaps see them, see the little animals running
around and biting me. Oh, you don't know. There are two souls to
the cocainist. One is tortured by the suffering which the stuff
brings; the other laughs at the fears and pains. But it brings
such thoughts! It stimulates my mind, makes it work without,
against my will, gives me such visions--oh, I can not go on. They
would kill me if they knew I had come to you. Why have I? Has not
Haddon cast me off? What is he to me, now?"
It was evident that she was growing hysterical. I wondered
whether, after all, the story of the kidnapping of Haddon might
not be a figment of her brain, simply an hallucination due to the
drug.
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