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. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. ” She said in Lucy’s direction. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them.
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