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. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. McClintock was amused. " "You did right," returned Trenchard. This was in Texas. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. “For better or worse.
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