" "Where are you going?" asked his mother. 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. "It's the ordinary's signature, undoubtedly," replied Jack. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess.
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