Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. 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. ‘Not if I heard him aright. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. “Yes, John.
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