Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved. He walked in her direction. 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.
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