You are one of the Immortals. 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'm tired of the life I'm leading. "England or France, London or Paris, it's all one to me, so I've you to command me. "Look at it!" he felt like screaming. ” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence.
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