The solos were revealing, sensual and moody. 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. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. But his grief was of short duration. " He opened his eyes, to behold hers large with wonder. Not about girls that I date.
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