“Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. take it slow. ” “Give me something to do,” said Ann Veronica, interrupting her persuasions at last. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. 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.
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