“That is where I got confused,” 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. You can do it, if you will. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup.
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