’ Pierced to the heart by the poignancy of this utterance, Gerald could neither move nor speak. 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. “I will not ask you to explain further. A big breakfast is healthier anyway, so they say. Now you're up, take this spike. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. Show him no quarter, Poll. She had found him! Excitement welled. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages.
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