Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. ‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol. 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. Lucy ate without passion.
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