“So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. Another car followed, a rusty Cadillac sedan full of kids. 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 can’t. She came along with the fluttering assurance of some tall ship. She felt he would tell people the way, control traffic, and refuse admission to public buildings with invincible correctness and the very finest explicit feelings possible. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. “It was,” she admitted.
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