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184 ery's sentiments concerning a recent municipal election. In the midst of this, on a hint from Basil, the party moved on, the prize-fighter leading the way. They walked through Chinatown—quaint, dingy, mysterious shadow of the East thrown athwart the old houses of the Knickerbockers—and then they came out on the Bowery again, and went into another drinking-place. This was full of sailors, half or quite drunk. There were a number of young girls, shabbily dressed; and among them were two slight, pretty creatures, who looked not older than sixteen. As soon as they had taken a table, and, as a matter of form, ordered beer, a drunken sailor came up to their party, and leaning over the table and fixing a pair of child-like, sad eyes on Teresa, began a long story of his sufferings and wrongs on board his ship. His voice was so pathetic, his incoherent unhappiness so convincing, that the two women listened, quite fascinated; but he repeated himself, and finally lost himself in a maze of words, lurching heavily to this side and that; when Basil rose, took him by the arm, and led him away to another table, gave him a drink, and left him murmuring to himself.

Teresa looked about the room as though in a dream. The close air, the smell of beer, the throng of brutal faces, the drunken, lascivious eyes, the rough words caught here and there, made up an impression of naked sordidness so complete as to