“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. ” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. They're gone into the next room. 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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