The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. CHAPTER VII The astonishing collapse of Spurlock created a tableau of short duration. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. 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. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. Would you like me to take one for you?\" \"Nah.
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