Her moods were many and always striking. 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. ” “You think that you can do that?” “I am sure of it,” he answered, confidently. "As like as life. . “Do not be frightened, dear,” she said.
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