He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. 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 was horrible, but she must do it. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant.
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