When London Sleeps — page 145: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Queenie, sale as death, and with her beautiful eyes i: distended in horror, gasped out: ‘In Heaven’s name, tell me where I am!”’ Hilda Corrode paused a moment before replying in order to give her words their full effect, and then ~ she said, slowly and triumphantly: ‘In a house whose real life is when decent London sleeps.”’ Shivering from head to foot and with an inarticu- _jate murmur, Queenie covered her white face with her hands. She understood at last. David was not there. It was all a trick, of which she had been the easy vic- — tim. Hilda, with folded arms, watched her, gloating over the misery of her successful rival. At last the hands fell, and Queenie, raising her head, drew herself up proudly. ‘Why have I been brought to a place like this?” she demanded. ‘“That you shall be told by another,’’ answered Hilda, shortly. ‘‘But understand that until daybreak you are a prisoner.’’ Until daybreak! A prisoner! Oh, no, that was too horrible! And Queenie, her very sot revolted, appealed for pity, for mercy, as a drowning man clutches at a straw. And the straw would be of quite as much service to the drowning man as Hilda Cor- rode would be at that supreme moment to Queenie Carruthers. a “Hilda ,’? pleaded the distracted girl, battling: for j _ what she realized dimly was far more precious than co micboo ‘S, con ue AS de OPN R NUH HWE ci: Bh 0"