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. Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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