” He shrugged his shoulders. ” “You would marry a divorcée?” she asked. 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. Well, this was the side of the world where things like that happened. “We played at love-making in Paris. She's not for pleasure, but for work.
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