She knew that babies came from the womb; her womb had fallen out with her baby. 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. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. He walked unsteadily towards the door. "Before I go," continued Sir Rowland, "I must beg of you to disclose to me all you know relative to the parentage of Thames Darrell.
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