I promised to put him in touch with some people in Rome, an idea which he warmed to. Wood required little pressing. 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. “Girls. ‘This is not love, Marthe. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane.
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