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” She said to him as they walked past houses down the block. "He never let me keep a dog or a cat about the house. 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. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. He knew. It’s an instinct. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said.
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