” Annabel rose to her feet. But I can easily bring in a sing-song girl to play for you. I suppose I ought to have been a man. 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. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. \"Well, my Advanced Trig book weighs about two tons, then there is my Poli-Sci book, which is smaller but kind of fat, I've got a speech to write for a meet next week, so I've got a Trapper Keeper just for speeches, you know. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you.
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