I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. 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 read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. ” “Your ideas of fairness—” he remarked, and discontinued that sentence. Um. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends.
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