Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. I knew it. "Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish. 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. The expression was wholly different. He and her father shook hands manfully. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir.
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