When they came to their senses, everyone was staring at them, except Salome.
"Don't you have a sister? Don't you want to see her? What would she think of you when you look like this? Do you want her to keep waiting like this?!"
Clap clap clap — —
Applause.
The dry monotone clapping echoed around.
The completely inappropriate sound for the situation grew louder, as Salome and her subordinates clapped and cheered.
"The game is over, Mr. Sullivan, please prepare three contracts."
The witch stopped applauding, and the casual men around her stopped their synchronized movements. Glancing at the bewildered crowd, Salome announced the results nonchalantly.
"Three? But…"
Confused by the obviously incorrect statement, Sullivan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Just as he was about to correct the mistake, the offer of "1,000 Guinea" effectively silenced the middle-aged man.
"1…1,000 Guinea?"
