If he keeps his word, I'll keep mine. 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. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave.
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