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. Ramage—about the forty pounds. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. His employer retreated into the further apartment, leaving the door ajar.
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