She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. 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.
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