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It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. ” He beamed upon her. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. 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. “Read this, John. That’s— that’s my private life. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you.
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