Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly.
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