The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. Silly woman!. 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. Howsomdever, if you should reach t'other side, take an old feller's advice, and don't be foolhardy enough to venter back again. Here he was hotly pursued. Only an undermaid I was then. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers.
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