She must not show anything. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. She found Rhea trapped under a rock, her skeletal head exposed. 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 made it a point to bring beachcombers to the house to fill her with horror of mankind. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage.
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