The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. 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 see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan.
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