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. If only to say goodbye. " Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it.
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