‘I know just what he was doing. 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. On the left there were doors communicating with the King's Bench Ward and the Stone Ward, two large holds on the Master Debtors' side.
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