" "You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there was eagerness in his eyes. 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. As he was about to descend his chains slightly rattled.
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