He would advise you how to get rid of the fellow. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. 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. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. She nodded.
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