There was some one there. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. 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. She heard the sounds of Rhea scuttling about, and then feeding, brutally.
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