Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. ” She turned a firelit face to her husband. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. ” “Did you ever formally change your name to Albert, Lucy?” “No, I did not.
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