’ ‘Idiot. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. That had shut him up for a while. He shot at me at the ‘Unusual,’ and the magistrates bound him over to keep the peace. She auditioned and got a summer job teaching violin at the Mozart summer music camp for children, catching the luckiest of breaks. “Then why go out with him, Michelle? Why belabor yourself?” Lucy questioned. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. 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. And not a worthy tome in sight. We mustn’t make it so.
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