" Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. 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. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. " "Poor Jack!" sighed Thames.
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