Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. 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. Winifred screamed. You shirk a straightforward and decent return for what you get from us— taking refuge in purity and delicacy and such-like when it comes to payment. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy.
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