"I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. 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. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. " "Stop!" interposed Edgeworth Bess; "Mr.
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