. ’ ‘So I infer. 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. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew.
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