Then he had gone away. I miss her a lot. 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. ‘Let us go elsewhere and discuss the matter. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years.
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