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. He sat down. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard. Then Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot. The Jacobite.
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