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. "Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine action might give him a hand-hold on life again. However, I'd rather have a blow from the daughter than the mother. And then as we went down you’d try to explain.
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