’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. CHAPTER XII. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. . Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. 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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