You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. 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. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him.
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