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“I don’t believe there is one. "If I escape, I will reward you. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. " No sooner had Wood crept through the window, than nature gave way, and he fainted. A paralyzing horror was upon her. ” Tears flowed down 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.
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