“Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve smashed some things. 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. He was not able to recognize, as the doctor did, that she was only a natural woman. I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again.
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