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 could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. " "Why didn't you head him off, explain that it couldn't be done by a white man?" Ah Cum shrugged. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe.
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