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. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. " "There's some one in the garden at this moment," cried Jack; "I saw a face at the window. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. Your purpose is done. ‘Here she is.
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