‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. . 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. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious.
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