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. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. Always the other things remained. He unhooked it from the front clasp. Maggot, laughing. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. "Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. But this made the chase all the more exciting. I'd go for it.
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