“She was the High Priestess who turned me in Greece, before Rome. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. 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 knew of course that you were at the Montressor’s, but I had no idea that it was a music hall party afterwards. " "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority.
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