There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair. 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. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me.
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