\" Diane Vorsack chirped with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, extending her right hand in greeting. She knew she was a monster and so did they. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. “Lucy, that is so sad. 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. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket.
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