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. Until then we mean to keep on hammering away. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. You would not have believed me, I know well. Oh! you young people!” The young man with the orange tie, in spite of Sisyphus-like efforts on the part of Goopes to get the topic on to a higher plane, displayed great persistence in speculating upon the possible distribution of the affections of highly developed modern types. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road.
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