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. "Why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" Ben inquired. Enjoy. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not. ’ Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face.
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