She looked down at him and was amazed to see him erect again, amazed at the incredible virility that he possessed. 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. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success.
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