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’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. ” “I’ve been clearing up,” said Ann Veronica, brightly. . . A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. I’m a little tired. . 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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