” She could have handled ten times the weight, and hoisted him on her back and carried him too. You will only make me hurt you the more. I did not reckon upon—him. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. I’m like a creature just wakened up. 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.
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