’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. 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 is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. ’ ‘Oh, that,’ Gerald said cautiously.
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