Stanley’s pace slackened. 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. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. I have seen you with Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. “Anna of course would not accept any money from us,” she continued.
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