She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. 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. " The doctor gave Spurlock's hand a friendly pressure. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. “Please stop fighting me.
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