If only to say goodbye. 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 she shrugged. " "Why?" McClintock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. No! not even the derivation! But the fashion’s been set and in it you must be.
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