She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. Probably hadn't. 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. ’ ‘I do not think so,’ Melusine agreed, still puzzled. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes.
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