" "And what should a young man like this one have to forget?" Prudence demanded to know. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. Could you pull over? She asked. 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. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead.
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