It was high noon of her great day. She had slept late. Now, as she sat sipping2 tea and munching3 toast, she thought of the past and of the future.
Behind her in the past lay disappointments, heartaches and many perils5. Were they gone forever? Did only a golden future lay before? She hoped so.
And yet—she thought of the dark-faced gypsy whose one purpose in life appeared to be to come into possession of her gypsy Fire God; she thought, too, of the enemy of Maxwell Street. It was he, she felt sure, who was hounding poor old Dan Baker6 for money.
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“He’s a blackmailer7! I hope we have heard the last of him!” she cried passionately8.
Soon she was to know that they had not!
Since the affair at the door of the opera stage and the theft of Florence’s Boston bag, the ever thoughtful Solomon had secured a special taxi driver, a man of skill and courage, to carry Florence and Petite Jeanne wherever they must go. But until now nothing further had happened.
“And to-night is the night!” She poked9 her pink toes out from the blanket in which they were wrapped and murmured: “And to-night, you feet, you must do what Florence calls your durndest!” She laughed a merry laugh.
At four their special cabman honked10 in the street below. They would go to the theatre. There in her dressing room Petite Jeanne would rest, partake of a belated tea, and await the zero hour.
She was thinking of this in a dreamy way as they sped toward the theatre when, as they paused before a crossing signal, shocking things began to happen.
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“Make room!” a gruff voice demanded. A man in a huge overcoat attempted to crowd in beside Florence. She resisted. All her splendid muscles went into play. The taxi driver was not lagging in his part. Swinging the car sharply about, he attempted to dislodge the intruder from the running board. A car coming from the opposite direction struck his hind4 wheel. His cab spun11 around, skidded12 sharply to the right and struck the curb13 with a crash.
The shock threw the intruder from his place. He went sprawling14, struck his head on the street curb and lay there dazed.
In an instant Florence, filled with honest courage and righteous indignation, leaped upon him.
But now a second man, springing from his car, dashed at her. She could hardly cope with both of them. But reinforcements were coming. A crowd was gathering15. From this crowd sprang a stout16, ruddy faced man. With one deft17 blow he felled the oncoming assailant and, with apparent satisfaction proceeded to pin him to the pavement.
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Florence felt the man she held struggle to free himself. But just then two burly policemen, arriving on the scene, relieved her of her task.
Trembling from head to toe, Petite Jeanne had left the wrecked18 cab and was standing19 by the curb when the man who had come to their rescue approached with lifted hat.
“I have a car here, a rather good one.” He half apologized for intruding20. “Your cab’s smashed. The driver tells me you are bound for your theatre. It would be a pleasure—” Suddenly he stopped and stared with dawning recognition at the little French girl.
“Why, upon my word!” he exclaimed. “It is you! Petite Jeanne! The very person for whom I am looking!” He stripped off a glove to hold out his hand.
Until that time, thinking him only a gallant21 stranger, Jeanne had taken no notice of this man. Now, after one surprised look, she cried, with the feeling native to her race:
“Preston Wamsley! My very dear friend!”
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It was, indeed! Having returned, after a month of travel, to his hotel in New York, and finding there Jeanne’s letter regarding his long lost luggage, this friend of her sea journey had hastened immediately to this city and to Angelo’s studio. There he had received the French girl’s address and had been driving to her home when these strange happenings had arrested his progress.
“Nothing,” he said, with a ring of genuine emotion in his voice, “could give me greater pleasure than to drive you to your theatre. Your friend may come with us. You have an unusual taxi driver. He appears to know the ropes. He will make all necessary reports and see that those rascals22 are put behind bars where they belong. It was a kidnaping plot beyond a doubt.
“No,” he said a moment later, as Jeanne, after sinking into the cushions of the great car he had employed, started shakily to explain, “you need not tell me a thing to-night. To-morrow will do quite as well. Your nerves have been shaken. And this, the driver assures me, is to be your great night.”
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“It is,” Petite Jeanne murmured. Then sitting up quite suddenly, she produced a ticket from her purse. “This,” she said, “is the last one in my private row. You must take it.”
“I could not well refuse.” He tucked it away in his billfold; then, as Jeanne sat quite still with eyes closed, striving to still her madly beating heart, they glided23 onward24 toward the theatre and her night of nights.
点击收听单词发音
1 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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2 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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3 munching | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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4 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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5 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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6 baker | |
n.面包师 | |
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7 blackmailer | |
敲诈者,勒索者 | |
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8 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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9 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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10 honked | |
v.(使)发出雁叫似的声音,鸣(喇叭),按(喇叭)( honk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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12 skidded | |
v.(通常指车辆) 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 );打滑;滑行;(住在)贫民区 | |
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13 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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14 sprawling | |
adj.蔓生的,不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 );蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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15 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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17 deft | |
adj.灵巧的,熟练的(a deft hand 能手) | |
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18 wrecked | |
adj.失事的,遇难的 | |
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19 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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20 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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21 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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22 rascals | |
流氓( rascal的名词复数 ); 无赖; (开玩笑说法)淘气的人(尤指小孩); 恶作剧的人 | |
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23 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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24 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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