James’ Park?” Anna nodded, and made a careful selection from a dish of quails. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. Besides, he was a Yale man. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. 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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