CHAPTER XXXI. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. " "You think so, eh?" chuckled Shotbolt, who was eagerly perusing the reward, and congratulating himself upon his caution; "you think so—ha! ha! Well, don't go to bed, that's all. I always say that it’s poverty before everything that makes a girl skip the line. I can’t even make myself care. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction.
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