I declare I'm almost afraid to go to the door. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. I'm not particular what or where. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him.
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