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 way de money always go tuh de same place," a voice was saying.

The moonlight ebbed from the cornea where Bess and Sportin' Life stood. Five minutes had passed since she had made her sudden decisive gesture. She stood oddly rigid, with her hands clenched at her sides.

Abruptly she spun around. "Yuh gots mo' ob dat?" Her voice was low and taut.

"Sho' I has!" came the answer, with a confident laugh. "But it don't come cheap. Gimme dat money yer got dere."

Silently she held out her hand, and poured the coins into his palm.

He gave her a small folded paper.

"I got more ob dat when yer needs it," he said, as he turned away.

But she did not hear him. She snatched the paper, opened it, and threw the contents into her mouth.

The court was sinking to sleep. One by one the lighted windows went blank. The women at the wash-bench got to their feet. One yawned noisily, and another knocked her clay pipe out on the flags in a shower of sparks. Then a voice came clearly—the one that had complained before about the crap game.

"I ain't sayin' ef it conjer, er jus' plain loaded dice. All I gots tuh say is dat dam