” “Sure thing, kid. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. 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 porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. “Quite alone, sir. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. You see to what it has brought you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjE0Ni4xNDcgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDIyOjE4OjE3IC0gMTIyMDE1NDcxMA==
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