Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. 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. “What do you mean?” Lucy asked. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. Stanley pronounced, and seemed to hesitate whether he had not gone too far. The stench is everywhere. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off.
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