She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. 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. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew.
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