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. ‘Ah, grandpére. Lucy felt a finger tap her on the bra strap as she observed Michelle chatting with yet another passing group of people. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion.
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