The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. By the time John returned with popcorn and a large Coke, the theater had filled up with high-school kids. 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 was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen.
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