Pure romantic nonsense on her part. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. 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. Until she had left her island, what she heard and what she saw were truths. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. ’ He bowed.
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