Shall I make an appointment for you?” Miss Kitty Brett was one of the most conspicuous leaders of the movement. 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 is all the fault of that lantern. No girl with a face like that…. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal.
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