human
You are not like a common taxi-driver,
gpt
I'm a taxi-driver, he replied.
human
As to common that's not for me to say.
gpt
You speak like an educated man.
human
Who are you?
gpt
A prisoner like yourself.
human
What sort of joint is this anyhow?
gpt
Joint?
human
Who are these men? What are they?
gpt
I don't know. They tell me nothing.
human
But if you live here you must hear and see what goes on. What do you make of it?
gpt
It's politics of some kind, she said vaguely.
human
I don't understand. How did you happen to come here?
gpt
I was sent.
human
By whom?
gpt
A fare who engaged me on the street.
human
What sort of person?
gpt
Well, I'm not much of a hand at description. An ordinary looking fellow, middle-aged, plainly dressed, nothing special about him.
human
You're just fooling me! she said reproachfully.
gpt
You don't trust me.
human
Why should I trust you? said Greg bluntly.
gpt
You don't answer my questions but only ask me others.
human
Ask me anything, anything! she said passionately.
gpt
I look to you to save me!
human
Who are you, and what are you doing in this house?
gpt
It's a miserable story! she said in a shamed voice.
human
My name is Clelie Mendizabal. I am a Peruvian. My father died a few years ago leaving us penniless. I had to go to work. Well, in Peru a girl who works for her living is looked down upon, so I determined to come to New York. They said that the streets of New York were fairly paved with gold. I had no difficulty in finding work here, but I soon found that a working girl has no easy time in America either. There was a man from my own country who made believe to be my friend--I trusted him--Ah! I was so friendless here! I thought no wrong. I went about with him--Oh, how can I go on! One night a month ago he brought me to this house saying that it was a restaurant. I--I have not been out of it since!