He did not even reply to her for several minutes. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. 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. Sometimes I am frightfully busy; and then there will be periods of dullness.
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