Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. Very glad. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. 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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