The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. 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. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. " "Aliva Trenchard!" exclaimed Mrs. Well, it's scarcely credible. Voting wouldn’t do no ‘arm to ‘er. She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace.
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