“Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “We should get out of here. 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. ’ ‘But you must. His employer retreated into the further apartment, leaving the door ajar. Don’t go back into Victorian respectability and pretend you don’t know and you can’t think and all the rest of it.
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