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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. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. . Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy.
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