“I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. Caliban sarch ebery hole in de place, but Shack no dere. 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.
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