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. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. . I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically.
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