He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart. “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. 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. I could not hear his heart beat. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “I should kill you. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him.
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