He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself. 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. You have watched all the uncouth creations of my brain come sprawling out upon the canvas, and besides, we have been companions. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. Now go. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me.
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