Into one of these the waterman jumped, and, having assisted Mr. Pity you aren’t under my command. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. 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 is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. Promise me one thing before I leave you. ‘That’s a loud one.
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