The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. 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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