It was not a trophy--not a sign of conquest and triumph over an enemy--but simply plunder, and had a market value of fifteen or twenty dollars.
The dress was next examined; it was new, but not of a costly material.
Removing this, the man went out with his portion of the spoils, and locked the door, leaving the half-clothed, unconscious girl lying on the damp, filthy straw, that swarmed with vermin.

It was cold as well as damp, and the chill of a bleak November day began creeping into her warm blood.

But the stupefying draught had been well compounded, and held her senses locked.
Of what followed we cannot write, and we shiver as we draw a veil over scenes that should make the heart of all Christendom ache--scenes that are repeated in thousands of instances year by year in our large cities, and no hand is stretched forth to succor and no arm to save.

Under the very eyes of the courts and the churches things worse than we have described--worse than the reader can imagine--are done every day.

The foul dens into which crime goes freely, and into which innocence is betrayed, are known to the police, and the evil work that is done is ever before them.