Don't you know, it rang like so many
bells? Red gold, you know, like oranges?"
"Ah," said Maria, putting her chin in the air as if she knew a long
story about that if she had a mind to tell it. "Ah, yes, that gold
service."
"Tell us about it again," said Zerkow, his bloodless lower lip moving
against the upper, his claw-like fingers feeling about his mouth and
chin. "Tell us about it; go on."
He was breathing short, his limbs trembled a little. It was as if some
hungry beast of prey had scented a quarry. Maria still refused, putting
up her head, insisting that she had to be going.
"Let's have it," insisted the Jew. "Take another drink." Maria took
another swallow of the whiskey. "Now, go on," repeated Zerkow; "let's
have the story." Maria squared her elbows on the deal table, looking
straight in front of her with eyes that saw nothing.
"Well, it was this way," she began. "It was when I was little. My folks
must have been rich, oh, rich into the millions--coffee, I guess--and
there was a large house, but I can only remember the plate. Oh, that
service of plate! It was wonderful. There were more than a hundred
pieces, and every one of them gold. You should have seen the sight when
the leather trunk was opened.
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