Oh, you must believe me. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. 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. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. Still, she knew instinctively that all of Sidney Carton's life had not been put upon the printed page.
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