"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. Our ideal had fallen. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. “But you must forgive me, John. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 03-07-2024 17:30:04
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