She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. 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. ’ ‘You were quite as bad to me as I was to you,’ Gerald protested mildly, sitting down beside her. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention.
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