‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. 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. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. We were hunting and were separated from the rest of the hunters, so I said, ‘There are ways for a man to escape his wife where no one is harmed. I do swear. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. Sheppard staggered forward. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day.
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