"As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude. Lord knew why he had any interest in an impertinent girl who would certainly have spit him with that dagger! He reached into his pocket and brought it out, examining it in the increasing light as he slowly made his way back up the terrace. 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 filled her with indefinable fear. John looked at his feet bashfully. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria.
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