She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. "Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. 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. ’ Lucy giggled.
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