The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. I stole away and walked to the railway station. 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. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared.
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