He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. 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. ’ ‘Without permission.
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