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 hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. "I have so much to learn.
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