" So saying, he violently shut and locked the door. " CHAPTER XV. 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. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Suddenly he stopped short. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. ‘Go on, Gerald. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly.
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