The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. It was just upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. . 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. ” She shook her head. "No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went.
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