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. ” “I believe you,” she murmured. ” The young man obeyed the summons. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. ” Her hand fell back into her lap.
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