Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. 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. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood.
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