“I am a fool,” he said. 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’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 14:15:58