Allie
realized that if she were ever to lift a hand to save herself she
must do so at once.
This was a fixed and desperate thought in her mind when Durade
called her to her work.
Allie always entered that private den of Durade's with eyes cast
down. She had been scorched too often by the glances of men. As she
went in this time she felt the presence of gamblers, but they were
quieter than those to whom she had become accustomed. Durade ordered
her to fetch drinks, then he went on talking, rapidly, in
excitement, elated, boastful, almost gay.
Allie did not look up. As she carried the tray to the large table
she heard a man whisper low: "By jove! ... Hough, that's the girl!"
Then she heard a slight, quick intake of breath, and the
exclamation, "Good God!"
Both voices thrilled Allie. The former seemed the low, well-
modulated, refined, and drawling speech of an Englishman; the latter
was keen, quick, soft, and full of genuine emotion. Allie returned
to her chair by the sideboard before she ventured to look up. Durade
was playing cards with four men, three of whom were black-garbed,
after the manner of professional gamblers. The other player wore
gray, and a hat of unusual shape, with wide, loose, cloth band. He
removed his hat as he caught Allie's glance, and she associated the
act with the fact of her presence.
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