“It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. 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. Not a moment is to be lost. It does not matter to him either way.
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