Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. 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. What is the matter with you?” Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. He was angry. "Altogether unsuccessful, Sir," said the chief turnkey, with a look of disappointment, not unmixed with apprehension, as he approached Wild.
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