“Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve smashed some things. ” “Not long ago,” she said, “you left me in anger, partly because of this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. 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.
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