She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. That wasn’t even the worst thing. As long as I live here, you stop fucking the children and you stop trying to fuck me. . A brief calm succeeded. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. 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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