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. Yield up the babe, and I pledge my word you shall remain unmolested. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. “That’s all,” she said “I’m afraid I’m a little confused about these things.
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