"Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. Do you mind talking to some one else. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. And this time the departure had a tremendous effect of finality. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. 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 thought made her exquisitely happy. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so.
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