It needs cultivating, I think. 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. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. Cathy's eyes widened, her cheeks expanding to a smile. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said.
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