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. Now keep still. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. But, finding the cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way. “It may be her salvation.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE5MS4xODYuMTU5IC0gMDItMDYtMjAyNCAwMzoyOTo0OCAtIDY4NzY1MDM3Mw==
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