“But where shall I go?” she asked.
“I know some one in the town who'll help you,” he said. “You can't stay here—you'll catch cold.”
“What's there left for me?” she moaned. “What am I good for? He's thrown me over—and I can't live without him!”
Samuel got the umbrella up and held it with one hand; then with his other arm about the girl's waist, he half carried her down the piazza steps. “That she-devil was after him!” she was saying. “And it was Jack Holliday set her at it, damn his soul! I'll pay him for it!”
She poured forth a stream of wild invective.
“Please stop,” pleaded Samuel. “People will hear you.”
“What do I care if they do hear me? Let them put me in jail—that's all I'm fit for. I'm drunk, and I'm good for nothing—and he's tired of me!”
So she rushed on, all the way toward town. Then, as they came to the bridge, she stopped and looked about. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“To a friend's house,” he said, having in mind the Stedmans.
“No,” she replied. “I don't want to see anyone. Take me to some hotel, can't you?”