It is better that you go away now, I think. . 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. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. I understand nothing of what you say. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. This whole affair is truly my fault. We'll try whether he'll get loose again.
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