A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. 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. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. The wedding day came shortly after she turned fourteen. \" Shari said. " "I had to.
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