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. I cannot work, I cannot teach. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you.
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