‘But a spy I am not. I'll watch over these infants, if that's your worry. Presently he heard her voice. 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. "You base ingrate," she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr.
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