The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. " In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. ’ Chapter Five ‘Now then, young Jack,’ Gerald said, turning to the lad, who was sitting in the place lately vacated by his self-appointed mistress, but in a state of far less relaxation. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. 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. Your life is like a funeral March.
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