Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. 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 houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. "Make it known among your friends. “I suppose I shall have to write an answer.
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