“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. 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. ’ ‘Are we to infer that he had a choice?’ enquired Gerald. You'll do. You didn’t even do that Vee; not even that. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. He then unlocked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. . . . Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest.
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