This is her first adventure. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. 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. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. ‘I told her you couldn’t have been flirting, but she wouldn’t believe me. I am really in earnest. ” “You do not understand me at all,” she declared. The order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road. Eight per cent.
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