He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. 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. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. I've often regretted that I didn't investigate the matter. Jack Kimble. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face.
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