Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. 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. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. Wood heard the cry. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. ” Mr.
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