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. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. "You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. I may prevail upon them to take you in until you are full-fledged, providing you do not find this aunt.
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