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Updated: June 2, 2025
He noted Morani's hand slide to the waistband of his trousers, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. "They appointed us to tell you to tell you that the time has come" he was stammering, his eyes fastened on the Italian's supple hand "the time has come when we, the workers, have decided have decided that "
For several seconds Koppy held the coward's faltering eyes, then turned with disgust to the others. "What will we do with him?" Morani's knife slid down his wrist and swished across his boot leg. And the others looked agreement. Werner shuddered began to bluster. "You asked what I thought. I told you. I didn't mean to give the whole thing up not much I didn't."
Morani, alone now but forced to carry it through, struck swiftly. Torrance managed to take the point of the stiletto on his left arm. With his right he grabbed the Italian's arm and jerked sideways and down. A sickening snap, and Morani's dark face went a sickly cream. Without changing his hold, Torrance flung out sideways, as a petulant child discards a doll that has lost favour.
"Go and listen to the music, daddy. You need sweetening to-night." The rough big fellow looked deep into her eyes. "I'd go plumb crazy in this life without you, little girl." "Sure you would," she agreed contentedly. "Now run along and do Morani's orchestra justice. He deserves it." He patted her cheek and returned to his favourite stand in the front door. The evening mysteries were deepening.
We Workers know no boss; we please ourselves. We boss out here. If any one say no slash!" He struck downward with his right hand, as he would gladly strike when he had the chance. And Morani repeated the movement, only far more subtly and efficiently. Werner stumbled to his feet, his eyes on Morani's stiletto. "Here, you butcher, I'm not a boss. Keep that sticker away from my shins.
That it could profit them nothing mattered not. All they read was that, under-dogs as they were doomed to be, they might make their masters suffer. Werner, more sensitive to the silences, grumbled at his leader's back. "Cheerful sport, this. A real hi-larious way to end a dull day." Morani's lip curled. "It's all right for you, Chico," muttered Werner.
A crash of musical instruments broke from the ugly clutter of buildings on the river bottom. "Do cut it short to-night, Tressa. Morani's got the orchestra going already. Where that Italian devil stows music in that vile body of his, and where he manages to find more of it in those other brutes, beats me."
Signora Martina, the first day or two, expressed some fear lest they might not rest well; but both girls averred they never in their lives had known so luxurious a bed, and never should again, unless their good fortune brought them back another year to enjoy this sybarite couch at Dr. Morani's.
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