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 foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. You make me angry, and I lie. Meysey Hill—never your wife. CHAPTER II. But when she learns that you are a fugitive from justice….
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