” They were eating quails when they returned to the topic of love. 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. ” “And if you are a millionaire like Drummond,” someone remarked, “you send round a note and ask her to come out to supper. The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants.
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