"But never mind who, or what I am. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. Silk. Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked. 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. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer.
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