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. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. This was unscrupulous, he admitted, because he had no intention of following through on the seductive promise in his conduct. This gloom was impossible. But two weeks later he returned. pgdp. ” “I MUST talk with you.
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