But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. 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. ” “You are going to sing in London?” he said quietly. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity.
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