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"Bring him along, Joe!" said Jackson, in a whisper to his comrade. He laid her on their old bed and kissed her from head to toe. 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. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 20-09-2024 14:47:20