You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. 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. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself.
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