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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. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis.
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This video was uploaded to lewoagencies.com on 02-06-2024 16:05:53
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