Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. . Don’t leave me in this beastly thing. 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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