‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. 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. ’ ‘But why, Marthe,’ asked Melusine, as she walked into the house. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness.
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