The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. I'll put them in your room; then we'll have a look-see. Her faithful servant struggled, with her assistance, to rise. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. “I heard that she had chucked her show at the French places and gone in for a reform all round. In a momentary fury she seized and tore in pieces the study which remained upon the easel. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “I must go.
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