Twenty guineas, mind. He drew an awed breath. . ” Lucy hesitated. But he knew. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. 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. He had been quite right to sit down.
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