’ ‘Back?’ Melusine put a hand to her aching temple. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. No, this was not reasonable. I’ve no name for it yet. 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 might as well try to build a ladder to heaven.
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