There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. “I must read him when I come out. 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. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of.
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