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. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. ” Lucy said, frowning. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess.
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