He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. 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. She did not bother with the backpack despite its due tomorrow status. and Mrs. Free, there is nothing left to her but the canal. Wood, softening her asperity.
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