“I cannot part with you. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. None this end. Certain reserves went down on both sides. "He's dead," exclaimed Austin. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. 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.
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