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. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. “But who’s going to pay for the room?” “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly. Capes sat down in the armchair beside her.
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