“Will you say what you have to say, please, and go. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. 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. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact.
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