He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. 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. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Michelle, I truly don’t. All your faults are just jolly modelling to make you real and solid.
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