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 ought never to have thought of it. ” He looked at Lucy. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. It's big, thanks to you.
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