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. He did not leave much of an 17 impression. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. ‘While we’re on the subject of age, it may be relevant to your claim to this house. ” “It is for your good—your good only I am thinking,” he declared. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. " "I begin to see that I shall have to learn English all over again.
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