Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. "The lash cuts to the bone. 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. ’ The lady shook her head, contriving at the same moment to utter a breathy little laugh.
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