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Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. 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 like you very much John. Some foul murder has been committed.
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