“Ciao. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. “We can,” he said, “and we will.
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