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. ’ ‘Not dead, miss. Petals!. I have only just left Wych Street. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. ‘They eloped. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. " Spurlock turned his dull eyes and tried to focus hers. ‘Aye, that she was. " "The Tigress!" The doctor laughed. “Well,” she said. "But trifle with mo no longer.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ3LjQ5LjE2NCAtIDA5LTA2LTIwMjQgMDA6NDA6MTcgLSAxODQzMjEwODIz
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