Most wildly did these fancies crowd upon her. Real sleep came at last.
Marie and Alys were the only two who slept that night in that quarter of the town.
Adolph’s face was thin and intellectual. He had beautiful hands, and his wrists and ankles were as thin as an athlete’s. He sat in his gaudy brothel, drinking.
“A real God-send,” he said to his partner, and as he spoke he tapped his fingers on the little table holding their drinks. “A real slap-up present from the Almighty. Delivered free of charge.”
“Oh yes, oh yes: God is good. But what are we to do?” asked his partner, the man whom they called Tansy.
“Well, it’s simply a matter of choice. We’ve plenty to select from. All our customers are sick of these Barcelona girls: they haven’t a bite left in them. They start in Paris. Their bloom off, they go to London. When London’s sucked them dry, they go to Marseilles and from Marseilles to Port Said and from Port Said they come here and from here they go to ... well, I suppose they go to Hell. Not a single one comes from Barcelona. Now, we could do with half-a-dozen virgins.”
“Virgins?” asked Tansy, leering filthily. “And what strange fowl may they be?”
“Well, the Cruchot girls are virgins. Marie and Alys. I’ve had them at the top of my list for three years. They’re worth six thousand drachmæ apiece. From Pedro’s report here, the fire should reach their house at a quarter to one.”
“They’ll have skedaddled by now,” said Tansy, “it’s just on midnight.”
“They were at home an hour ago!” exclaimed Adolph.