"Sold a good many, though. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill. " And, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off.
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