And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be so hard to find as formerly. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. Besides, he might hear things. A cry was then raised by the leaders to attack Wild's house, and the fury of the mob was instantly directed to that quarter. 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.
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