And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. . Humph. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in…. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. 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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