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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. ‘Gérard is not mad, only of a disposition entirely interfering. “Still, since it is better to tell you, Sir John is very much in earnest, but his respectability is something altogether too overpowering. “I shall come back, if at all, a new man. F. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I have come to take you home; and hereafter my word will be the law. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her.
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