Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. 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. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. “Lucy, I have to talk to you.
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