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She reached her fat, chalky arm toward the money, but Gordon was before her. "Four queens," he shot out, grasping the crumpled bills. Em cursed; then followed a short, awkward silence. It was Ottinger's deal, but he did not pick up the scattered cards. Gordon gathered himself alertly, measuring the distance to the door. "I've got enough," he remarked; "I'm going to quit."
It pierced his indifference, set in motion his reason, his memory; he realized the necessity, the danger, of his predicament ... the money! he must guard it, take it back with him. Above, in a heated, orange mist, the woman's face loomed blank and inhuman; farther back Mr. Ottinger's features were indistinctly visible. He must rise....
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