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. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble. It might as well be Melusine herself. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity.
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