From Party Going, by Henry GreenSTILL
"She still swayed him like water moves a trailing weed, and froth and some little dirt collects round, and sometimes when he first heard her voice again and when as now she used that private tone, then it was as if his tide had turned and helpless he turned back, delivered up to move to her tune and trail back the way he had come helpless, delivered over, benighted."
From page 114
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