Lights were there to the right, and hurrying forms.
Ancliffe ran with her in the other direction. Only dim, pale lamps
shone through tents. Down this side street it was quiet and dark.
Allie stumbled, too. He turned a corner and proceeded rapidly toward
bright lights. The houses loomed big. Down that way many people
passed to and fro. Allie's senses recognized a new sound--a
confusion of music, dancing, hilarity, all distinct, near at hand.
She could scarcely keep up with Ancliffe. He did not speak nor look
to right or left.
At the corner of a large house--a long structure which sent out
gleams of light--Ancliffe opened a door and pulled Allie into a
hallway, dark near at hand, but brilliant at the other end. He drew
her along this passage, striding slower now and unsteadily. He
turned into another hall lighted by lamps. Music and gaiety seemed
to sweep stunningly into Allie's face. But Allie saw only one person
there--a Negress. As Ancliffe halted, the Negress rose from her
seat. She was frightened.
"Call Stanton--quick!" he panted. He thrust gold at her. "Tell no
one else!"
Then he opened a door, pushed Allie into a handsomely furnished
parlor, and, closing the door, staggered to a couch, upon which he
fell. His face wore a singular look, remarkable for its whiteness.
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