Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. 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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