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. As this seemed insufficient, after a lapse of five minutes, he added another hundred weight. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 01-07-2024 19:56:06
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