” She whispered to him. "Be still!" "Oh, come along! I've just got to have my muck bath. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. 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.
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