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 was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. When she told him that the natives called her The Dawn Pearl, his delight was unbounded.
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