That which had happened by the Starzke River was now of the Sagalac River.

The passions and wild love and irresponsible deeds of the life he had lived in years gone by were here.
It was impossible for Ingolby to resist the spell of the music.

Such abandonment he had never seen in any musician, such riot of musical meaning he had never heard.

He was conscious of the savagery and the bestial soul of vengeance which spoke through the music, and drowned the joy and radiance and almost ghostly and grotesque frivolity of the earlier passages; but it had no personal meaning to him, though at times it seemed when the Romany came near and bent over him with the ecstatic attack of the music, as though there was a look in the black eyes like that of a man who kills.

It had, of course, nothing to do with him; it was the abandonment of a highly emotional nature, he thought.
It was only after he had been playing, practically without ceasing, for three-quarters of an hour, that there came to Ingolby the true interpretation of the Romany mutterings through the man's white, wolf-like teeth.