’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard. 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. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. ‘You are not the only one to seek them out,’ he said. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. The Master of the Mint. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant.
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