“It’s a flabby, loose-willed world we have to face. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. 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. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you.
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