The evenings were dulcet and soft. He pulled down a chair to her left. 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. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. ” She said.
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