The man himself was not a pleasant object. 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. But Jack speedily burst it open with the iron bar. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. ’ Gerald’s jaw tightened.
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