“Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. 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’ll need that. Darrell, however, rose again instantly; and though mortally wounded, made a desperate effort to regain the boat.
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