All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. ” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. “I’m very shy, and I would like to opt out if you don’t mind. 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.
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