The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. "No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. 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.
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