” She laughed. " The head turnkey, in all probability, would have obeyed. 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. “I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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