‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. 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. ” “Clear out?” cried Hetty. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. “What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed.
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