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. It might be upset. They were the same. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. Spurling had retired for the night. ’ ‘But why?’ asked Melusine, astonished, and somewhat overwhelmed by the other girl’s volubility.
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