"How very like it is!" "Not so strange, surely," laughed Thames, "that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended. “I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. ” She shook her fist ceilingward. 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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