" "But I'm a poor man. 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. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. Not enough of them to make a difference.
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