“This ain’t no place for you. 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. ” “There are some French customs,” he declared, “which are admirable. Ennison, who had been standing with his back to the window, came suddenly a little further into the room.
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