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. ” “Very well,” Anna said. . ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. Have you anything to tell me before you go?” Annabel laughed lightly. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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