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. A quick flush stained her cheeks. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. A group of ten began emerging outside the ticket area. “They all catch on,” she said.
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