“How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly. " Upon which, he set off in the direction of the entry. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. “What’s wrong?” He asked as she shifted awkwardly. You had better go to bed. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. 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. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. Except that this music we have been swimming in is divine.
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