She felt as if she had struck them unawares. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. 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. “Ding-dong-Diedermayer is here, Lucy. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one.
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