“I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. 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. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. She breathed deeply. ” She looked at him for a moment with fire in her eyes. It’s all very handsome starting out on your own, but it’s too damned hard.
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