But first, we’ve got to secure the convent. ’ ‘But, no,’ cried Melusine anxiously. . 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. For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise.
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