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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. Since Mary predeceased Jarvis, Nicholas could scarcely argue himself to be my brother’s next of kin. That is what I don't understand.
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