“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. 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. He reeled, and crashed to the floor. But we get over it. "What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?" asked he.
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