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. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers.
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