She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. She had finally managed to start breaking him down. 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. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better.
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