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. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. He stood still, almost breathless. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known.
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