If only Gerald would come. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. 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. His face will be all I need.
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