This is simply a chapter of coincidences. “It is unimportant,” she said. ” Her aunt answered in a low voice: “I was engaged to him, dear, for seven years, and then he died. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. 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.
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