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. The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. “Oh, Michelle, I’m such a miserable fool. Sixteen thousand! Mark me, young man, you'll pay it back through the nose, every dollar of it!" "I owe you nothing.
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