Last night there had been no time. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. 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. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant.
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