‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch. 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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