Her head was aching so fiercely
that she had not the courage to move. Presently the man turned
toward her a kindly, bearded face. But she was used to the man
of general good character who with little shame and no
hesitation became beast before her, the free woman.
"Hello, pretty!" cried he, genially. "Slept off your jag, have you?"
He was putting on his coat and waistcoat. He took from the
waistcoat pocket a dollar bill. "You're a peach," said he.
"I'll come again, next time my old lady goes off guard." He
made the bill into a pellet, dropped it on her breast. "A
little present for you. Put it in your stocking and don't let
the madam grab it."
With a groan Susan lifted herself to a sitting position, drew
the spread about her--a gesture of instinct rather than of
conscious modesty. "They drugged me and brought me here," said
she. "I want you to help me get out."
"Good Lord!" cried the man, instantly all a-quiver with
nervousness. "I'm a married man. I don't want to get mixed up
in this." And out of the room he bolted, closing the door
behind him.
Susan smiled at herself satirically. After all her experience,
to make this silly appeal--she who knew men! "I must be
getting feeble-minded," thought she. Then----
Her clothes! With a glance she swept the little room. No
closet! Her own clothes gone! On the chair beside the bed
a fast-house parlor dress of pink cotton silk, and a kind of
abbreviated chemise.
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