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. “You can say what you have to say before Mr. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. I don’t care what divides us. This is a tale of two young fools. Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot.
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