She shook her head. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. 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 whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. “It isn’t objections exactly.
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