For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. “Turn me. "I could have sworn I saw him enter this passage. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. 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. CHAPTER VI. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared.
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