F. John sat with his parents who arrived bubbling with excitement, bragging to everyone about Lucy’s first performance for them exclusively. They were so good to me. 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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