Blue Ruin will do the job nicely. 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. ’ ‘No. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance.
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