Suddenly she understood. He could not make good his hold. She looked around the apartment for other people. She answered him with another kiss, long and deep. 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 did not come,” she faltered. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited. ‘Looks like it. "I generally take a party.
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