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. Loose the wherry, and stand to your oars—quick—quick!" These commands were promptly obeyed. “Why just take her limbs? Why not poison her, like me?” “Because, if you remember, she turned me into a vampire.
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