Wood; "I can't for an instant question such distinterested testimony. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. 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. Ennison had disappeared. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction. He had sufficient strength to wait upon himself. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. Yet through these talks, these meetings and conferences, these movements and efforts, Ann Veronica, for all that she went with her friend, and at times applauded with her enthusiastically, yet went nevertheless with eyes that grew more and more puzzled, and fine eyebrows more and more disposed to knit.
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