If this success continued, it would be easy to assume the name of Taber. 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. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. Oh, goodness! Bilking! Ann Veronica, you’re a bilker!” Pause.
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