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"I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead.
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