“Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. "Your uncle must protect you. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. " "It'll be over in a few minutes," rejoined Jonathan, impatiently; "in fact, it'll be over too soon for me. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. 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.
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