It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. “I can tell you are thinking about it. . She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. 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. I’m damaged goods. Stanley determined to improve the occasion. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent.
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