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. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. I can't invent; the thing won't come. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. He encouraged her to join him in his debauchery. I know exactly what I am doing. E. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead.
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