These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. 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. Though it’s very kind of you.
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