‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. ” The official had no more to say. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. “Dare!” she said. 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. ” She shook her fist ceilingward.
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