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. Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end. ” She said, ignoring the absurdity of her own statement. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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