Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 44 — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ADDICT you dreamed o’ this one on that bed a many a night, eh, George?” George Three blushed. It was entirely involuntary, for he felt only a _ deadening apathy. The clock on the bureau top was the only sound in the room for a long moment. Then Lilian Four spoke. “It’s time for first period Tab, isn’t it?” ““Ain’t time yet,’ snapped the old woman. “It is though,” continued the girl. “It’s time right now.” ““Ain’t! And you can save your tricks, sister.” But the old voice lacked conviction. “My clock . . . is just be- hind you, Mrs. Eighteen,” George Three managed in a strained voice. “And ain’t you the clever one, too,” said the landlady, waving her pistol at him menacingly. “You think the old gal’s dumb enough to turn around, eh?” “Til... DU get it for you,” suggested George Three. “Shut up!” she shouted, her wrinkled old eyes flashing. The exclamation raised mucus in her mouth. She cleared her throat noisily and then seemed to relax. “Anyway, I got my ration right here.” They watched in silence as she reached her left hand into her bodice and withdrew the brown paper envelope. She continued to hold the gun upon them steadily. Raising the envelope to her mouth she bit at its flap with broken teeth, her eyes steady upon them. She tugged at the en- velope, getting it wet. Then, tilting her head back, she shook the open paper con- tainer to roll a tablet into her gaping mouth. “You dropped one!” said Lilian Four. “Did I?” the landlady said, fearfully, nodding her head forward to search. George Three leaped and deflected the woman’s gun hand. The pistol buckled with a loud noise. The pro- jectile hit the far wall, shower- ing powdered plaster. George Three grappled with her gun hand. Still she clung to it. Once she very nearly over- came him. The gun went off but the projectile passed over his head. It shattered the 121 Commicloookxs.cConn