The warm feeling inside of him increased as if the world itself approved of what he was doing. The spirits, trapped in their eternal waltz of the dead and the damned, danced with more erratic liveliness. Their forms becoming more tangible and solid yet still incomprehensibly vague to look upon. Their movements became more independent, even as more and more of them seemed to disappear altogether in little flashes of light. The fear subsided, the revulsion remained and the joy increased as, hammer blow after hammer blow, the things were repulsed, scattered and killed by bursts of magical starlight, their furious convulsions causing more columns to fall and causing more explosions and more deaths as the room began to lose all structural integrity. Handy found himself genuinely smiling in spite of it all. “Let them all say as they will, for it's Albert Mooney she loves still!” 