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. . ’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed deeply. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. Afterwards was the most delightful part of all!.
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