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Page 187

PART II - CHAPTER XVI

was better for a little while and more quiet, although he never eased his tension of waiting.
But she did not always coax him thus. Sometimes she shook her shoulders lightly in the way she had, and let him be alone. Only her eyes followed him with the deep look they have whenever she gazes at him. If he did not come to her then, she withdrew herself and spent the time in learning our language and in playing with my son, whom she loves and speaks to in words I cannot understand.
She has even begun to learn from me also something of the music of the ancient harp, and soon she knew enough to make an accompaniment to her songs. Her voice when she sings is full and moving in its depth, although to our ears, accustomed to the delicate, high notes of the human voice, it has a quality of sweet harshness. She can melt my brother to instant passion with her singing. I cannot understand the songs, but when I hear her I feel a dark, vague pain.
At last when no message yet came from my mother, she seemed to cease to think of the matter and turned her mind to other things. She went daily for long walks by herself or with my brother. I marvelled that my brother ever allowed her to go alone, since it is certainly not seemly in a

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE was better for a little while and more quiet, although he never eased his tension of waiting. But she did not always coax him thus. Sometimes she shook her shoulders lightly in what is way she had, and let him be alone. Only her eyes followed him with what is deep look they have whenever she gazes at him. If he did not come to her then, she withdrew herself and spent what is time in learning our language and in playing with my son, whom she loves and speaks to in words I cannot understand. She has even begun to learn from me also something of what is music of what is ancient harp, and soon she knew enough to make an accompaniment to her songs. Her voice when she sings is full and moving in its depth, although to our ears, accustomed to what is delicate, high notes of what is human voice, it has a quality of sweet harshness. She can melt my brother to instant passion with her singing. I cannot understand what is songs, where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" East Wind: West Wind (1939) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 187 where is strong PART II - CHAPTER XVI where is p align="justify" was better for a little while and more quiet, although he never eased his tension of waiting. But she did not always coax him thus. Sometimes she shook her shoulders lightly in what is way she had, and let him be alone. Only her eyes followed him with what is deep look they have whenever she gazes at him. If he did not come to her then, she withdrew herself and spent what is time in learning our language and in playing with my son, whom she loves and speaks to in words I cannot understand. She has even begun to learn from me also something of what is music of what is ancient harp, and soon she knew enough to make an accompaniment to her songs. Her voice when she sings is full and moving in its depth, although to our ears, accustomed to what is delicate, high notes of what is human voice, it has a quality of sweet harshness. She can melt my brother to instant passion with her singing. I cannot understand what is songs, but when I hear her I feel a dark, vague pain. At last when no message yet came from my mother, she seemed to cease to think of what is matter and turned her mind to other things. She went daily for long walks by herself or with my brother. I marvelled that my brother ever allowed her to go alone, since it is certainly not seemly in a where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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