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. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. And, thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room. “Grail!” said Ann Veronica, and then: “Oh, yes—of course! Anything but a holy one, I’m afraid.
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