Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. 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. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. ’ ‘A life of ease?’ repeated Melusine.
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