His voice had broken. Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. But not today. 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. Better get back now! You be careful. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily.
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