Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. Mother had forced Lucy to memorize the ingredients of the stews, fairly beating them into her, spanking her backside when she rebelled. 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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