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. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. He lowered himself on to her. “You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will.
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