There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. ‘I do not understand 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. Now lend me your own hand. After that time, I shall place my setters on your heels.
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