EARLES, Strictly Private Every one stared at Anna. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. 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 may not know it, but it's easier to find a guy that's gone far than it is when he lays dogo in little old New York. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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