It began as a joke. 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. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr.
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