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. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. Sheppard.
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