"
Something of her old spirit fired the girl for a moment. She was
angry, and she forgot that her knees were trembling with fatigue,
that she was weak and aching with hunger.
"How dare you talk like that!" she exclaimed. "You shall have
your money shortly, but I must have my clothes. I cannot go
anywhere without them."
The woman laughed harshly.
"Look here, my young lady," she said, "you'll see your box again
when I see the color of your money, and not before. And now out
you go, please,--out you go! If you're going to make any
trouble, Solly will have to show you the way down the steps."
The woman had opened the door, and a colored servant, half
dressed, with a broom in her hand, came slouching down the
passage. Beatrice turned and fled out of the greasy, noisome
atmosphere, down the wooden, uneven steps, out into the ugly
street. She turned toward the nearest elevated as though by
instinct, but when she came to the bottom of the stairs she
stopped short with a little groan. She knew very well that she
had not a nickel to pay the fare. Her pockets were empty. All
day she had eaten nothing, and her last coin had gone for the car
which had brought her back from Broadway. And here she was on
the other side of New York, in the region of low-class lodging
houses, with the Bowery between her and Broadway. She had
neither the strength nor the courage to walk. With a
half-stifled sob she took off her one remaining ornament, a cheap
enameled brooch, and entered a pawnbroker's shop close to where
she had been standing.
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