“You needn’t say a word more,” Mr. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. 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. Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective.
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