"But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me. CHAPTER XXXI. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the case. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict.
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