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 wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. Then she was out of the door and running, fast. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. They will find me dead, yes.
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