It hardly served his interests. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence.
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