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. She shuddered. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. She looked at him mournfully. Don't worry about me.
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