[SPAM] Rive her crazy. But even with these two inhuman monster

Ffly from the chair where he had spent the night. His eyeballs showed a
network of tiny red veins, swollen with the surge of alcohol in his
blood and with the strain of staring all night at the cards. Beneath his
eyes were puffy ridges. His cheekbones flamed with the whisky flush. He
cashed in a double-handful of chips, stuffed the money he had won into
his coat pocket, walked, with that stiff precision of gait by which a
drunken man strives to hide his drunkenness, to the bar and had another
drink. Frank was at his elbow. Frank was staggering, garrulous, laughing
a great deal over very small jokes. "I'm going to bed," said Bud, his
tongue forming the words with a slow carefulness. "Come over to my
shack, Bud--rotten hotel. My bed's clean, anyway." Frank laughed and
plucked him by the sleeve. "All right," Bud consented gravely. "We'll
take a bottle along." CHAPTER TEN. EMOTIONS ARE TRICKY THINGS A man's
mind is a tricky thing--or, speaking more exactly, a man's emotions are
tricky things. Love has come rushing to the back of a tip-tilt

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