Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. “Michelle, the only reason I ever started to behave or dress differently was to please that boy. “I only use the weeniest little dab of rouge,” she declared, “and it is really necessary, because I want to get rid of the ‘pallor effect. ‘Let’s check the rest of it and then I suppose we will have to break in. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. 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.
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