Another short one. According to the foreward of my copy, this was intended to be a play, rather than a novel, and the Carol Reed-directed filme noir masterpiece, with Orson Welles and Joseph Cotton playing the lead roles, is certainly worth a watch. And it's all about dodgy prescription drugs!
Now he didn't make the mistake of putting out a hand that might have been rejected, but instead just patted Martins on the elbow and said, "How are things?"
"We've got to talk, Harry."
"We couldn't be more alone than here."
He had always known the ropes, and even in the smashed pleasure park he knew them, tipping the woman in charge of the Wheel, so that they might have a car to themselves. He said, "Lovers used to do this in the old days, but they haven't the money to spare, poor devils, now," and he looked out of the window of the swaying rising car at the figures diminishing below with what looked like genuine commiseration.
Very slowly on one side of them the city sank; very slowly on the other side the great cross-girders of the Wheel rose into sight. As the horizon slid away the Danube became visible, and the piers of the Reichsbrucke lifted above the houses. "Well," Harry said, "it's good to see you, Rollo."
"I was at your funeral."
"That was pretty smart of me, wasn't it?"