The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. 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 moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Coolly and gingerly, she kissed it as it stood at its hard angle from his body. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. “You know—,” said Mr.
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