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. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. ‘Let her go. "Run away with her," replied Gay. ” She massaged him. “Forgive you, indeed. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. It will be hot work, but it must be done at once. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared.
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