"
"This way--here--around this corner."
"This way now--only two squares more."
"Here we are."
"Rap-rap-rap!" on the old brass knocker. Curses on the narrow wicket,
more on the dark archway, more still on the twisting stairs.
Up at last and into the room.
"Easy, easy, push this under his head: never mind his boots!"
So he lies--on 'Tite Poulette's own bed.
The watch are gone. They pause under the corner lamp to count
profits;--a single bill--_Banque de la Louisiane_, fifty dollars.
Providence is kind--tolerably so. Break it at the "Guillaume Tell." "But
did you ever hear any one scream like that girl did?"
And there lies the young Dutch neighbor. His money will not flutter back
to him this time; nor will any voice behind a gate "beg Monsieur to go
away." O, Woman!--that knows no enemy so terrible as man! Come nigh,
poor Woman, you have nothing to fear. Lay your strange, electric touch
upon the chilly flesh; it strikes no eager mischief along the fainting
veins. Look your sweet looks upon the grimy face, and tenderly lay back
the locks from the congested brows; no wicked misinterpretation lurks to
bite your kindness.
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