While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. Only she hadn’t. 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’d come back from the ends of the earth. Think better of it. So that way is closed. Not wisely but too well.
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