” She shook her head. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. "Well, I'm not far from the mark. 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. This is a tale of two young fools. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. I suppose I ought to have been a man. On the way home he was still thoughtful.
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