Horrible details recurred to her. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. She needed to protect the baby. 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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