George Allan England

“ That morning Wingate had used the last of his drug, and once more he was on the edge of the painful gulf.
“Well, so you're here, eh?” he growled, as Jaccard entered his little cabin. “It's about time, I should think!”
“Yes, I'm here,” the captain smilingly replied, handing over a bulky package. “Here's what you sent me for—cash, bonds. quite a bundle of stuff. It's all there. I haven't touched a penny of it. Honesty, strict honesty—that's my motto!”
Wingate snarled at him:
“Like hell! If you're an honest man, I'm a wise one! ”

“ It's nearly killed you, with suffering.”
“That's enough, from you!”
“It's a safe bet no old-timer as a dope fiend—nobody who's been taking the stuff for years—can ever get clear,” the captain blandly continued, eying Wingate with enjoyment of his obvious misery. “You'll never get clear. You haven't the stamina, the will power—to be plain, the guts!”
“You know a devil of a lot about me, don't you?”
“I know enough. You're a weakling, and you'll pay through the nose for it. Zanelli and I can clean up a million or more, on you. It's too easy!” ”

“ Isolation! A vast, primal loneliness overbrooded sea and sky and all the world. Save for the figure of the alert Zanelli, always on guard, Wingate might have been some modern Crusoe on a veritable Juan Fernandez.
“Jaccard certainly made a fine job of it when he picked out this place!” he thought bitterly. “A fellow might stay here a year, and nobody would ever come near him. ”

“ Jaccard laughed with real enjoyment. “And as I said before, you'll never stop. After all, what's your money, compared to the living hell of trying to cut out the stuff? All that a man hath, you know, he'll give for his life.”
“You're the devil of a fine man to be quoting the Bible!”
“Well, you know Shakespeare says even the devil can quote it for his purpose; but never mind about that. How many tablets do you want now?”
Wingate would have given the world to shout: “None!” at him, and to consign both Jaccard and Zanelli to the bottomless pit ”

“ Among the semitropical undergrowth wild goats bleated, trampled, browsed—descendants, no doubt, of some that long ago had been cast ashore from shipwrecked vessels, or had been left by fishermen, beach combers, or the like. ”