Come. 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. Wild is a great man," said the hangman, replenishing his pipe, "and we owe him much, and ought to support him. My father died a year ago, by the way. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. Laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place.
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