She looked around the apartment for other people. The night was now profoundly dark. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. “I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too.
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