" "I'll never understand. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. Stanley went on, “but there are things— there are stories about Ramage. That was life. You have taken even my knife. I’ve never met any one like you. 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. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy.
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