‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. 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 music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. You will make her suffer. ” Her breath left her for a moment. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife.
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