She elected to go to prison. For I still love her mother. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. 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. ” She assented, smiling.
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