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. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. ‘Let her go.
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