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Aleister Crowley Diary Entry Sunday, 11 January 1931
Another terrific sweat on waking. Shaved. Yes, I did. Fearful bouts of coughing—mostly dry—shaking the very soul.
Karl [Karl Germer] insisted on calling in his doctor who is a perfect fool. He wrote a simple prescription, which cleared up everything, even most of the exhaustion, without any argument or delay. Well, maybe he is not a fool, but he has a deep-laid scheme, and a pact with the devil.
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