“I had thought to go on to Kandersteg,” said Capes, “but this is a pleasant place. 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. "Lady Trafford would not have thus condemned me!" cried Thames. “Dare!” she said. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats.
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