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 wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. "I've set a trap for him. Better to remain silent.
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