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 low and ingratiating: "Come; gimme yer han', Sister," he said.

Acquiescent, but mystified, she held out her open palm.

He poured a little pile of white powder into it. There it lay in the moonlight, very clean and white on her dark skin. "Happy dus'!" she said, and her voice was like a gasp. "Take dat t'ing away, nigger. I t'rough wid um, I tells yuh." But she did not turn her hand over and let it fall upon the ground.

"Jus' a little touch fer ole time sake," he whispered. Tain't 'nough ter hurt er fly. An' it ain't goin' ter cos' yer one cent."

She stood a moment longer, and her hand trembled, spilling a few grains between her fingers. Then suddenly she clapped her palm over her mouth. When she took it away it was quite empty.

Sportin' Life heaved a sigh of relief, turned and leant against the wall—and waited.

In the corner by Serena's bench the party was breaking up. Only a few women were left, and instead of the blur of general talk, remarks leapt clear. They were discussing the crap game that had just closed.

"Dey is somet'ing berry queer 'bout de