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. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes.
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