A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. 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. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. “Mr. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. “Mr. “I feel shabby and disgraced. He gave you a poison. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak.
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