One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. 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. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them.
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