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. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. To this day he and every one else thinks that he married Anna. "With all my heart!" replied Wood. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling.
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