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 don’t care. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. I kicked the living shit out of him. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. " "That's right, Captain," rejoined Blueskin.
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