The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. 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. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. You’re all dependents—all of you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNS4xNDkuMjI1IC0gMDctMDctMjAyNCAwODowMToyNyAtIDM1NzY2OTcwMA==
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