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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. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. " "But they are everything to me," cried Jack, stooping to pick them up. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table.
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