"
He followed her a step down the alley.
"How much do you think it was worth?" he inquired, anxiously.
"Oh, a million dollars," answered Maria, vaguely.
When Maria had gone, Zerkow returned to the back room of the shop, and
stood in front of the alcohol stove, looking down into his cold dinner,
preoccupied, thoughtful.
"A million dollars," he muttered in his rasping, guttural whisper, his
finger-tips wandering over his thin, cat-like lips. "A golden service
worth a million dollars; a punchbowl worth a fortune; red gold plates,
heaps and piles. God!"
CHAPTER 4
The days passed. McTeague had finished the operation on Trina's teeth.
She did not come any more to the "Parlors." Matters had readjusted
themselves a little between the two during the last sittings. Trina yet
stood upon her reserve, and McTeague still felt himself shambling and
ungainly in her presence; but that constraint and embarrassment that
had followed upon McTeague's blundering declaration broke up little by
little. In spite of themselves they were gradually resuming the same
relative positions they had occupied when they had first met.
But McTeague suffered miserably for all that. He never would have
Trina, he saw that clearly.
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