Men who looked as if they might have pulled one foot from the grave in
order to reach the Casino, hobbled wildly across the slippery floor.
Fat elderly ladies waddled with indomitable speed, like women tied up in
bags for an obstacle race; and an invalid gentleman, a famous player,
with his attendant--the first to get in--was swept along in a small bath
chair ahead of the crowd, an expression of fierce exhilaration on a
gaunt face white as bleached bone. But the young and healthy gamblers
had an advantage, especially those with long legs.
Only yesterday Mary would have let herself be passed by every one,
rather than push into a place which somebody else wanted. Now, however,
the gambler's fever was in her. Whatever happened, she must get a seat
at the table where she had played last night. To do so was the most
important thing on earth. Slender and tall and long-limbed, she ran like
a young Diana; though not since she had become Sister Rose had she ever
been undignified enough to run. Straight as an arrow she aimed for the
table she wanted, and convulsively seized the back of the last unclaimed
chair. It was grasped at the same instant by a young man of rather
distinguished appearance, who would in other circumstances no doubt have
yielded place to a woman, especially a young and pretty girl. But he too
had the gambler's fever. He struggled with Mary for the chair, and would
have secured it by superior strength if she had not dropped limply into
it as he drew it out for himself.
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