She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. 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. ” “Very well,” he said.
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