Lucy stood in front of the piano. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. “What’s wrong?” He asked as she shifted awkwardly. ’ ‘Emile Gosse,’ Melusine said flatly, in the same language. 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. A dresser, a washstand, and a clothes press.
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