The Man with the Twisted Lip

           IsaWhitney,brotherofthelateEliasWhitney,D.D.,PrincipaloftheTheologicalCollegeofSt.George’s,wasmuchaddictedtoopium. Thehabitgrewuponhim,asIunderstand,fromsomefoolishfreakwhenhewasatcollege;forhavingreadDeQuincey’sdescriptionofhisdreamsandsensations,hehaddrenchedhistobaccowithlaudanuminanattempttoproducethesameeffects. Hefound,assomanymorehavedone,thatthepracticeiseasiertoattainthantogetridof,andformanyyearshecontinuedtobeaslavetothedrug,anobjectofmingledhorrorandpitytohisfriendsandrelatives. Icanseehimnow,withyellow,pastyface,droopinglids,andpin-pointpupils,allhuddledinachair,thewreckandruinofanobleman. 

           Onenight—itwasinJune,’89—therecamearingtomybell,aboutthehourwhenamangiveshisfirstyawnandglancesattheclock. Isatupinmychair,andmywifelaidherneedle-workdowninherlapandmadealittlefaceofdisappointment. 

           "Apatient!"saidshe. "You’llhavetogoout." 

           Igroaned,forIwasnewlycomebackfromawearyday. 

           Weheardthedooropen,afewhurriedwords,andthenquickstepsuponthelinoleum. Ourowndoorflewopen,andalady,cladinsomedark-colouredstuff,withablackveil,enteredtheroom. 

           "Youwillexcusemycallingsolate,"shebegan,andthen,suddenlylosingherself-control,sheranforward,threwherarmsaboutmywife’sneck,andsobbeduponhershoulder. "Oh,I’minsuchtrouble!"shecried; "Idosowantalittlehelp." 

           "Why,"saidmywife,pullingupherveil,"itisKateWhitney. Howyoustartledme,Kate! Ihadnotanideawhoyouwerewhenyoucamein."