He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. “I never dreamt!” she said. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. There was—a service. He continued thoughtfully. JACK SHEPPARD.
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