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 he was not a father one could make much of. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. “No. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. ” He said. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly.
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