“To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. 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. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times.
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