‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. ” Lucy added, growing weary. 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. The door popped open with a sigh. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. The only inconvenience I feel from my shattered noddle is an incapacity to drink.
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