’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Sweatshirts and sweatpants were in for a while but they’re out now. 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. Fascination. You want me to be clean.
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