With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. 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. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. There was a flash and a loud report.
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