" "And partly what else?" "I shall never tell anybody that. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. They stood back together and stared at it. 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.
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