Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. Wood in very characteristic attitudes, occupied a prominent place on the walls. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. 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 advanced towards him.
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