“Heavens!” she exclaimed. 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. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian. Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle.
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