’ Her flesh crept. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. ’ For a moment he looked daunted. 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 too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt.
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