“Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. Some days, his eyes were green. 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. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future.
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