That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. ‘He is not in England, you understand. 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. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. “Once or twice.
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