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III. 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. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat. ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. He jumped out of the car. I'm ready to bear it all.
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