Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. 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. "And now, in return for your liberality, I'll inform you of a secret with which it is important you should be acquainted. And let's see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much. She leaned forward and addressed him.
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