The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. 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. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. To her, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils which pursued her.
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