My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. . 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 tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth.
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