’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. 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. ” She replied. She would never again be lonely.
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