A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. 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. ‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s sake, I’ll do anything I can.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 20-09-2024 12:32:49
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