In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. Jack did not advance to meet her. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. It was better even than the hymn-singing. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel. She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Fifty sent home. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words.
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