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Updated: May 13, 2025
"I give up!" she gasped, in simulated surrender, falling and drooping with all her weight in Pobloff's arms. He caught her and held her, bewildered, triumphant. "You mean it?" he cried, searching her face. "Yes, I mean it!" she murmured.
The big black man bared his teeth smilingly, the shrouded girl shrank back as if in fear. "Well, I'll be !" began the composer. Then he leaned over and pushed the button, the veins in his forehead like whipcords, his throat parched with wrath. But to no avail the bell was broken. Pobloff's first impulse was to take the smiling Ethiopian by the neck and pitch him out.
The girl was dragged away from him. In the moonshine he saw the grinning Hamet, suspiciously observing him. The runaway stood up and pressed Pobloff's hand desperately, uttering the cry of her forlorn heart: "Don't play in the great hall; don't play in that accursed place. You will be asked, but refuse. Make any excuse, but do not set foot on its ebon floors."
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