“I see the difficulty. 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. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. I hope she falls off the face of the planet. These and her general preparations had perhaps a certain disproportion. ‘Poor things.
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