I can’t forget about your sister. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. ‘Ah, grandpére. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. 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 had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. She stabbed him with her canines. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. Now I require it, only that I may stop this pig from ruining all. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her.
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