‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. Not a word passed between them. 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. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. " "A fugitive. . He was an old, skilled vampire. \"You should go out with him. When things are at the worst, they'll mend.
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