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. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally. “Great!” Cathy squealed. Just dreamed—and ran away even from my dreams. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant.
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