"Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. 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. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. The contest was now carried on between Rowland and Darrell. The lady had disappeared. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said.
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