There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. The word of a Chinaman; he had given it, so he must abide. 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. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father.
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