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The black heart
THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CHANCES
CHERTSEY, as he left the place, did not notice the slim form of the man who came gliding out of the shadows.
Such thoughts as he had were still with the feverish and hectic scene from which he had departed. He recalled the mock-commiserative look on the face of the croupier, as the man raked in his last throw: "Monsieur is unlucky to-night. To-morrow . . . who knows?"
He had laughed at the moment. If there was one thing certain in this changing world, it was that he wouldn't return to the ironically-named gambling hell which went by the bizarre title of "The House of a Thousand Chances." It was not that he minded losing the money, but the show was so tawdry, so flatly boring, so enormously stale. There wasn't a thrill in a lifetime there. At least, that had been his experience, and he shouldn't go again.
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