His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. 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 fondled her naked breasts with his fingers, then his mouth.
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