235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. " "Queer birds. "Leave him to me," he said. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “You need not be alarmed,” he said. 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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