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. " "Why didn't you head him off, explain that it couldn't be done by a white man?" Ah Cum shrugged. " "So far you are correct," observed Trenchard; "still, this is no secret.
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