Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. 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. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. He'll be able to help us a little now.
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