She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Wood. 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. Then there was also the horse. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her.
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