I knew where I would go next: Florence. 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. Melusine’s heart jumped and she felt heat rising into her cheeks. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple.
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