Lucy grabbed its handle, her broken bones mending inside her causing her to wince in pain. 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. Tell me what you think the island is like. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants.
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