“I truly am a vampire, John. "Yes," answered the girl. ” There was a shout of laughter. 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 have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm. All the rest—Movements! I can live now on fourpence a day. ” He stared at a little eddy. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it.
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