The looming face was 71 over her own once again, and arms as strong as iron bars held her down. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. Nothing else weighs against it. 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 may afford us some necessary information. " "Would you like to have me come in and talk?" How tender that sounded!—talk! "If you want to.
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