She was so interested, and this was such a relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on for a whole week as if she was still living at home. Like carpenter, like chips. “We shall try again later. He was as hard as a rock. 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'm not going to get rid of you just yet. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. She stared at him. .
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