"Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. 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. ‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued.
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