" "Suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. 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. It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary. Manning central in her mind.
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