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. I want to fill it with fine and precious things. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. "Are you a human being, to leave her thus?" "It is better so. " "Never!" cried Mrs. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning.
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