When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. 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. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford.
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