” “You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely. 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. "I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. Smith had never seen anything like it.
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