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. ” “Teddy,” said Ann Veronica, “you’re a dear!” “Oh, quite!” said Teddy, convulsively, and lifted an imaginary hat and left her. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. She has been a dear.
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