"Oh God! how fearfully my father is avenged!" "True," replied Jack, sternly; "but we have our uncle to avenge. 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 blades on the top spun faster and faster. “My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure.
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