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. "But, if you are discovered, answer no questions, as you value your life. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of— never. Totally disregarding the pain, he picked up the nail, and reserved it for future use.
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