‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. 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. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. Hanging about! And they start thinking and asking questions, and begin to be neither one thing nor the other. ” She nodded.
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