CHAPTER XXI. " And, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. I'd have got something nice. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl.
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