guess, but that it
was evil no man could doubt; and there were many whose nationality had
long since become as inarticulate as such soul they may have been born
with. Many looked anaemic and consumptive, but the majority were highly
coloured and frankly drunk. And if the men were forbidding, the women
were appalling. There was no attempt at smartness in their attire; they
were dowdy and frowsy, and even the young faces were old.

The din of voices, the medley of tongues and faces, the crash of music,
the poisoned atmosphere, confused Magdalena, and she turned
precipitately into a restaurant. It was almost empty; she sat down
before a dirty table and ordered a cup of coffee. The only waiter in
attendance--the rest were probably in the street--was old and bleared of
eye, but he stared hard at the new customer.

"You'd better git out of this," he said, as Magdalena finished her
unpleasant draught. "You ain't pretty, but you're a lady, and they don't
understand that sort here. Have you got much money with you?"

"About a dollar, and I certainly do not give the impression of wealth.
Most nursery maids are better dressed."

"You'd better git out, all the same."

But the strong coffee had gone to Magdalena's head, and she cared little
what became of her. Nevertheless, a moment later she was shrieking and
struggling in the arms of a big golden-bearded Russian. She barely
grasped the sense of what followed. There was a volley of screams and
laughter; the man was cursing and gripping her with the arms of a
grizzly. Then there was a flash of knives, and she was stumbling
headlong through the crowd, hooted at and buffeted. But no one attempted
to stop her, for a fight with bowie-knives was more interesting than a
sallow-faced girl who had happened upon foreign territory. She ran up a
dark side-street, and then, as her breath gave out and forced her to
moderate her pace, she glanced repeatedly over her shoulder. No one was
in pursuit, but it was some moments before she realised that it was not
relief she experienced, but something akin to disappointment. She was in
the ugliest mood of which her nature was capable, and that was saying
much. With one exception, better forgotten, this blond ruffian who had
insulted her was the only man who had ever desired her; doubtless, she
reflected bitterly, even Trennahan might be excepted. And when an
unprepossessing woman of starved affections and implacably controlled
passions sees desire