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. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. . A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Lucy's grin faded. Her heartbeat quickened. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before.
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