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I saw him lying on the footway. 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. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ” “You know,” he said with some hesitation, “that your sister is singing.
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