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. How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. "Leave us, Mrs.
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