There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. 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. It’s 180 endearing. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. I get the worst headaches.
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