And now I've another job for you. 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. He gave her silence in return. Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead and finished—two hundred years!. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice.
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