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. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. "I rather fancy, as you Britishers say, that you know the nature of my visit?" "I'm an American.
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