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. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. “You did a great job on my concerto today. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. Kneebone will excuse you. She threw him his car keys.
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