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. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. If you’ve got anything to say, you must say it to your aunt—” “But look here, daddy!” He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture.
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