’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. ” “I suppose not. 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. Charcoal. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. "The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health.
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