“I want to be your friend,” he said. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. Its shouting now did in some occult manner convey a protest that Mr. ’ She drew a heavy breath. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. 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. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity. The release was so great that she felt tears spring from her eyes.
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