She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ” He sat for a moment, absorbing. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers.
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