She was very beautiful;
it was surmised that she must be an actress. But she had left not a
scrap of paper or a clew of any sort by which she could be
identified. The newspapers printed her photograph; but Montague did
not see the Denver newspapers, and so to the day of his death he
never knew what had been the fate of Lucy Dupree.
The panic was stopped, but the business of the country lay in ruins.
For a week its financial heart had ceased to beat, and through all
the arteries of commerce, and every smallest capillary, there was
stagnation. Hundreds of firms had failed, and the mills and
factories by the thousands were closing down. There were millions of
men out of work. Throughout the summer the railroads had been
congested with traffic, and now there were a quarter of a million
freight cars laid by. Everywhere were poverty and suffering; it was
as if a gigantic tidal wave of distress had started from the
Metropolis and rolled over the continent. Even the oceans had not
stopped it; it had gone on to England and Germany--it had been felt
even in South America and Japan.
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