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. ” “They were my posters,” Annabel said. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me.
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