"What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. 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’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. " Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. . He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. Afterwards we started for a motor ride to a place outside Paris for déjeuner, and I suppose the man’s nerve failed him. . "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference.
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