She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. 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 simpered, and withdrew one hand so that she might smack his fingers playfully. There's something human about you now. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. Honestly, I never did.
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