" "I should be unafraid to go anywhere with you. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. 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 tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. She was keenly resolved to do well in the school examination, and not to be drowned in the seas of emotion that threatened to submerge her intellectual being.
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