For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. For a while he threatened her. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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