"The doctor said something about that. Jonathan nodded assent. 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. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet.
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