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Updated: May 2, 2025
"And 'there's more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, etc.," Stephen continued, anxious to persuade himself into a comfortable frame of mind. "Has Miss Poniatovsky repented?" asked Talbot, still more dryly. "Why, yes; I told you all she said. She won't gamble any more."
At the bottom of Good Luck Row, which is, as explained already, one of the first streets you come to, on the edge of the town, they halted and took counsel as to where they would be most likely to find the object of their search. "Perhaps she's gone up to the 'Pistol Shot," suggested Stephen. "We'd better go up to old Poniatovsky."
"The girl you danced with last night the saloon-keeper's daughter, Katrine Poniatovsky do you want any more identification?" returned Stephen, sarcastically, opening his heavy lids a little wider. "Well, what about her?" returned Talbot, looking at him expectantly. "Oh, well, I didn't know; I thought perhaps we wouldn't go back to-day, that's all," answered Stephen, rather sheepishly.
"I expect you've seen the inside of most of the drinking-houses to-night," he said, speaking in a kind voice, for the pitiful, cold face of the girl touched him; "have you seen anything of Katrine Poniatovsky, a girl who used to live here?" "Wot's she like?" the girl asked sullenly. She was so hoarse that she could hardly make the words audible. "A tall girl, dark, and very handsome."
"Your supper is ready now; if you are famished, as you said, you'd better have it, and discuss Miss Poniatovsky afterwards," he remarked. Stephen turned to the table. "Won't you have something too?" he said. Talbot shook his head. "No, thanks; I'm not hungry." "You ascetic creature, you never are," replied Stephen, as he began to carve into the cold bacon.
Both the men knew the drunken habits of old Poniatovsky, so that they silently sympathised with her, and there was a pause as they watched other miners coming in. "Well," said Katrine after a few seconds, straightening herself from her leaning attitude, "I think I will go home now; this place is getting so full, we shan't be able to breathe soon."
"She hasn't come down to see her father, I should imagine," remarked Talbot, in his dryest tone. But Stephen persisted she might be there, and so they tramped straight across towards the main street and turned into the "Pistol Shot." They pushed their way unheeded through the idle, lounging, gossiping crowd within, found their way behind the bar, and asked for Poniatovsky.
"You might have done, I should think," answered the girl carelessly; "but I don't come here very often, although my father is running this place." "Are you Poniatovsky's daughter?" he asked in surprise, unable to connect this splendid young creature with the ugly little Pole he knew as the proprietor of the saloon. The girl nodded. "Yes, Katrine Poniatovsky is my name what's yours?"
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