" The crowd accordingly drew aside, and the individual, in whose behalf the movement had been made immediately stepped forward. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. 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. Period trying desperately to cover her nudity with a dingy hand towel she had found lying on the floor in a corner. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door.
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