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. “I know the place you mean—very good cooking for such an out-of-the-way show. " "And leave you thus?" rejoined Jack. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house.
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