He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” 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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