The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. 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. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. "Owen, Owen," pursued Mrs. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of.
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