She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. 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 lad hesitated. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. "Ay, robbed him," reiterated Jonathan.
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