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. Get out your pad and pencil. Stanley. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. "Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again.
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