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. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. ‘Now let’s have it. There’s a hansom coming round the corner. Natives are queer.
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