" "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has had enough. He cocked an eyebrow. . " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. 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. "Oh, Gemini!" she exclaimed. This is your choice.
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