His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. . But he wrote on. ” “Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. 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.
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