" McClintock whistled. You’re not to go. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. He smiled. “I am the most foolish of men. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. 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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