‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. E. You must know that. 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. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. ’ Gerald raised his brows.
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