He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. "I have killed her," cried Jack. 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. Or I should have made love to you long ago. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. Lose no time.
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