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 just like you, Mary, and we’ve had a lot of fun. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel.
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