“I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. 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 guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. I can assure you, I wouldn’t be single again for worlds. Mr. As for money, Nigel has tons of it.
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