Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. 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. \"Oh. Her face is shaped funny, real long and skinny, and she has no chin. Jack appealed to the new auditors, and again detailed his story, but with no better success than heretofore. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear.
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