Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. “It is very doubtful,” he said. 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. Selling out of the Army to take up his inheritance had spelled boredom to Gerald Alderley. He’s a catch, Lucy. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered.
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