At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. 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. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Mr. ' Will that do?" "It will," replied Trenchard.
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