” She came closer. Winifred, you are deceived in me. ‘You do not dare look in my clothes. 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 have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Sir John stood upon the threshold.
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