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4. I killed him, Nigel. You sent back my Christmas checks. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. 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 feel so guilty.
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