" "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. "I forgot. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. 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. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. “Am I hurting you?” She asked. "You have both," replied Wood, fervently. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words.
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