She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. 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. ‘Don’t tell me. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. That’s why we are here.
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