" "Not quite," replied the manager. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. 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. “TROUSERS!” she whispered.
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