Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. 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. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now. "Did you ever hear me whine?" "No," admitted McClintock "You've no objection to my dropping in again later, after your guests go?" "No. " "No—no," laughed Jack. " The hint was not lost upon Wood.
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