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. Manning had shown on previous occasions that he found Ann Veronica interesting and that he wished to interest her. “Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. The sharp point of the sword at the girl’s throat bit sideways. Now drop it. “I think you are getting to understand me better.
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