“Why not?” He repeated, demanding. 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. And some were adorned with engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than anything she had ever seen in her life. It’s your way of glossing over the ethical position. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm.
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