"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. 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. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. ” He leaned to kiss her 131 and she returned his kiss, which she drew out, savored, and tried to memorize. ‘I don’t know that I dare. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession.
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