There was the motor accident, too. 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. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. “I have brought you very nearly to my door. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know.
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